


The D(evil) Wears Prada

by DelicatePoem



Series: designer clothes & hot coffee [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Devil Wears Prada Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, F/F, Fashion & Couture, Femslash, Idiots in Love, Inspired by a Movie, Mentions of Emma/Neal, Mutual Pining, New York City, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Slow Burn, fashion magazine, mentions of Regina/Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-20 10:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11918721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelicatePoem/pseuds/DelicatePoem
Summary: In the illustrious Runway Magazine set in New York, where the ruthless and powerful Regina Mills reigns as the editor-in-chief, Emma gets more than she bargained for when she lands the job as Regina’s second assistant. If she manages to last for a year working for her, it will set her up to work anywhere in the publishing world — she can finally become a journalist.Among renowned brands, fashion shows, parties and chaos, a deeper understanding blossoms between them.  When decisions are made in Paris Fashion Week, they find that being separated in New York won’t really work if they’ve got Henry Mills amidst them.





	1. february 2006

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CynthiaER](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynthiaER/gifts), [misthavens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misthavens/gifts).



> I'm so excited; my first time participating! My very first finished multi-chapter fic, and I won't even mention the word count. I may have gone overboard on the research for this. Totally worth it, though. Never knew fashion could be this interesting!
> 
> There are no words that can properly express my gratitude to everyone who made this possible. Firstly, a big thank you to the best friends I could ask for: Roberta, Rosa, Rosana, Isabela and Igor — without knowing what this was about they encouraged me to give it a try and persist.
> 
> Thank you to the awesome hosts of Swan Queen Supernova — your Word Parties and all the guidance were simply amazing!
> 
> I'd like to give a million thanks to my incredible cheerleader and beta, Starfire (CynthiaER), who helped me through every road block and plot holes, my language insecurities, and made sure the story was flowing nicely. Without you, I wouldn't have finished this, that's for sure!
> 
> Last but not least, thank you to Jess (misthavens) for this amazing cover art you can see right [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11825736). I'm in love with it.
> 
> Getting to know both of them has been a blast!
> 
> Well, I hope you all enjoy as much as I did while writing it, and that it's easy to understand even if you haven't watched The Devil Wears Prada.
> 
> UPDATE (2018.10.09): You can read the sequel clicking right [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807063/) Thank you so much for all the lovely response ♥

The haste with which Emma leaves the comfort of her bed — almost falling in the process —, when she realizes she has definitely pressed the snooze button more than once, would've made her laugh any other day. Not _today_. Today she has an interview scheduled for 8:00 am and it’s already 7:04 am. Human Resources had (politely) told her to be punctual and that near-hysterics senior assistant had, in no uncertain terms, demanded she arrive on time.

Why is she still in the shower repeating her rehearsed words for the interview when she ought to be worming into her only pair of slacks, matched with a white collared shirt and a thin sweater? (Neither were her first choices for comfortable attire, because she would trade both for a tank top and skinny jeans any other day. Except any other day is not _today_.)

 _OK, so clothes_  — _check. Comfortable boots — check. What's next, what's next?_

Meanwhile, her boyfriend wakes up and yawns, now staring bemusedly at the scene. "Em, calm down, you'll get there in time."

"Good morning to you too," she retorts. Where are her papers and her curriculum? "I can't not get there in time, Neal."

"Good morning. I'm just saying—there’s no need to stress yourself over this... Besides, I still can't understand the importance of this particular job. You weren't," he motions with his hand to Emma, who does not see it, since she’s inside the bathroom brushing her teeth, "fussing this much when you applied to all those newspapers."

Spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste in the sink, Emma stares at her reflection. Then, she attempts to tame her hair which is sticking out in every direction. (It’s also in desperate need of a haircut.) At least the golden color she’s so proud of is as bright as ever. "That's because they were all my first options and, as you can see, they didn't work out. I need this to work."

"I believe in you, Em," Neal concludes, dropping the subject. He gets up and gives her a brief kiss. "How about I make you my special grilled cheese, just the way you like it?"

Emma smiles. "Mmm, I've been dying for one of those. I guess there's no way I'd get onion rings for breakfast too, right?"

She doesn't understand why he shakes his head and chuckles. She wants onion rings, damn it... That's it — if she gets the job, her lunch will consist of something with a side of onion rings to celebrate. Perfect.

[SQ]

They won’t hire her or dismiss her solely based on her outfit choice...right? The slacks have seen better days, true, and Emma’s pretty sure the sweater came from her _mother's_ excessive collection, but... One did not necessarily _have_ to be fashionable to work at a fashion magazine? Ok, so her favorite red fake leather jacket might be a tad too inappropriate for the interview. It serves the same purpose as the "Good luck!" Neal gave her on her way out. Nevertheless — she needs all the help she can get.

Stepping out of her low-rent apartment, down the streets of New York Emma goes. In one hand is a two-years-old briefcase, swinging wildly as Emma leaves the Lower East Side by subway. As she hurries down the packed corridor she once again thought of her trusty yellow bug. Oh, she misses it. The car hadn’t made it all the way to The Big Apple. Saying goodbye to it had been one of her saddest farewells when, shortly after graduating college, she’d had to decide what to part ways with. There’s no use dwelling on the matter of home now, though. She has more important things to worry about, like "Can the subway move faster, just today?" or "Is it going to be a problem that I have no idea what fashion magazine I'm supposedly interviewing for?"

Despite the initial set-backs, Emma gets to West 48th Street with enough time to stop and stare up at the elegant tower. ‘Elias-Clarke Publications’ is aesthetically displayed in silver letters on the building’s front, giving off a sense of eminence and imperiousness she’s not accustomed to. The glass windows are dazzlingly clean and bright even though the sun isn't shining, and the building has at least 20 floors. Whew.

 _It’s easy to become overwhelmed here_ , she thinks when she has finally trotted inside the lobby. People rush in every direction around her — the lobby itself is huge, screaming opulence. Oh god, what was she thinking? She doesn't fit in here. These chic workers and their expensive suits just made that glaringly obvious.

Every cloud has a silver lining, Emma supposes, since she makes her way to the lobby's reception and is permitted to move on. She boards the elevator, now holding a 'guest' pass, and finds herself alone. _Breathe, Emma. You got this._

Through the 5th floor onward, she convinced herself there’s no turning back (her heart, trying to burst out of her chest, certainly does _not_ agree). _What's done is done_ , she thinks determinedly. The elevator's doors open and Emma resumes her inner pep-talk, now consisting of "the 18th floor could make or break her".

Taking a deep breath, Emma holds her briefcase like a lifeline and heads towards the receptionist sitting behind a large desk. On the wall above, in gold, fashion-magazine-typical-font is a logo of _Runway_. Huh. At least now she knows the magazine's name.

"Hi. I'm looking for...” what’s the name of that first assistant again? Oh, she has it in a paper somewhere inside her pocket— “...Lena Green?” —There it is.

“You're Emma Swan?” a British-accented voice drawls, coming from a hallway to the left. The woman who’d spoken suddenly appears, a clipboard against her chest, wearing a tight black dress, smartly matched with a tailored blazer on top. The ensemble likely cost more than Emma's entire wardrobe and the fact makes her even more uncomfortable.

Emma does a quick scan of the front of her sweater to ensure there aren't any grilled cheese leftovers on it, because the woman is examining her from head to toe with a frown. It dawns on Emma that, compared to the attire of everyone she’s seen thus far, her outfit falls completely within 'the worse for wear' category. Everyone on this floor is clad in similar styles: trendy, chic, fashionable, while she’s anything but that. Emma self-consciously buries the hand not holding the briefcase inside her jacket's pocket and tries not to fidget.

“Yeah, that's me,” she replies.

“Oh god, Human Resources really are trying to be funny!” the red haired woman tilts her head and smiles in a way that suggests she’ll be going straight down to that department to throttle the person responsible for inviting Emma. It’s likely that this is the crazy assistant she spoke to on the phone. The woman in question sighs. “Follow me.”

As they move down the corridor Lena came from, Emma tries not to pay too much attention to the racks upon racks of clothes, accompanied by fashionable workers moving at a hurried pace. There are also _Runway_ covers of various editions framed along the walls. Apparently this magazine is the real deal.

She’s slightly dizzy from all the sharp turns they’re taking while dodging people coming from every direction. The glass walls dividing offices or departments, as well as Lena’s snitty tone, aren't helping to calm her nerves.

“…as you know, you would fulfil the second assistant's job, which was mine before Ashley got promoted to the Beauty Department.”

“Oh, so you are performing a two-woman job at the moment?” Emma quips, while narrowly avoiding getting hit by another person maneuvering a rack of clothes.

“Precisely. The past three candidates didn't last more than a few weeks. Being Regina’s assistant is _not_ child's play. We need to find someone who can survive here, do you understand?”

“Of course.” Emma nods. “Who’s Regina?”

“You cannot be serious.”

Finally, after another set of double glass doors, they’re standing outside a bright corner room, where two desks are positioned opposite each other. Between the desks is a passageway leading to the entrance of the main office.

“I will pretend you did not just ask me who the _editor-in-chief of Runway_ is,” Lena continues, and Emma winces. “Regina's a legend. You manage to last for a year working for her, it sets you up to work anywhere in the publishing world,” Lena emphasizes her words by looking directly at Emma. “It's a well-known fact that a million girls would kill for this job.”

Work _anywhere_ in the publishing world? Emma mulls over those words inside her head. This turns the tides — doing well in this job could be her ticket to any newspaper or popular magazine. Emma’s determination skyrockets with this tidbit of information. Launching into her rehearsed lines, she says, “Sounds like an amazing opportunity. I'd love to be considered.”

Lena's snort somehow carries an air of condescension. Then, as if that isn't enough, she replies, “Yes, yes it is, but Emma, Runway is a fashion magazine...” Lena's derision is palpable. “...and this means that an interest in fashion is crucial.”

“Of course I'm interested in fashion, what makes you think I'm not?” Emma might be bluffing just a little, but this assistant doesn't have to know that.

The look on Lena’s face suggests she’s about to be dismembered; thankfully, a beeping sound interrupts their conversation. Lena almost drops the clipboard as she reads the message she's received on her phone.

Emma will later know that Lena's reaction was not unfounded — but now it leaves her confused.

“Oh my god. No. No, no, no!” Lena exclaims in desperation.

“What's happening?”

Ignoring her, Lena goes behind her desk, located on the left side of the room, quickly dials someone on the telephone, and not giving time for the person on the other end to answer, Lena says, “She's on her way. Tell everyone!”

If Emma was lost before, now there’s no scale to capture the level of her confusion. She feels like an idiot, gaping like a fish out of water, trying to make sense of new surroundings. This feeling compounds when a well-dressed man walks in a few moments later, setting down a box of some kind on top of Lena's desk. In the meantime, Lena is busy touching up her makeup for reasons unknown to Emma. Said man then comments, “She's not supposed to be here until 9:00.”

“I know! But her masseuse canceled!” Lena cries. “And her driver texted and said he's pulling up front with her in five minutes. God, these people!”

“Who's this?” the dapper man asks, blatantly pointing at Emma.

 _"That_  I'm not even going to talk about,” Lena dryly answers.

What is _that_ supposed to mean? Shaking it off, she looks at the man. “I'm Emma Swan, nice to—”

"I'm Jefferson Hatter, Art Director. If you'll excuse me for a second..." Pushing open the glass door, he shouts, “Prepare your armor!”

“—meet you, I guess.” She’s ignored and watches in fascination as all the employees freeze for a second then begin running like crazy, Jefferson included.

Emma is transfixed by the transformations happening in such a short period of time. There are assistants pushing the racks of clothes away; conference rooms being reorganized; papers being put back inside folders; workers actually scurrying away to do their work; women kicking off their comfortable shoes and slipping into high-heels. Most are also touching up their makeup just like Lena had done before.

Speaking of Lena, where is she? The last time Emma saw her, the insane woman was skittering around madly, arranging Regina's desk, her own desk and everything in-between. She watches as a crystal glass is set on Regina's desk; bottled water poured into it a few seconds later — probably some expensive label Emma will never be able to afford. Next, a shiny red apple is placed beside the glass. Emma can only stare as Lena's maneuvers are done in record time, leaving her breathless.

Emma jumps when Lena suddenly appears at her side. "Oh my God, you're still here. Go."

_Um... Where to?_

"Actually, on second thought, stay. I won't have time to escort you out because Regina's probably already entering the building. Here, let me take this, you won't be meeting her with this… _thing_ in your hands—” Lena points _helpfully_ to the briefcase, “the rest will be enough.”

Deciding to ignore the backhanded insult, Emma’s mind focuses on the first part of the sentence. Meet her? "What?"

"Oh, just..." Lena takes her briefcase and throws it behind the second assistant's station. "Stay." She says as if Emma’s a dog, and leaves promptly. Has anyone ever told Lena she is insufferable? No? Emma will do the honors.

"Wow, this is the _best_ boost for self-esteem," she says sarcastically to herself, sitting down on the second assistant's chair.

[SQ]

Her Lincoln Town Car pulls to a sudden stop outside Elias-Clarke. Why acknowledge Sidney, her driver, when he failed to avoid all the unnecessary traffic on the way here? Regina cannot understand how her employees are so incompetent. Is it too much to ask for one day without stress?

Obsidian Kate Spade stilettos are the first item to touch the sidewalk. Regina leaves the sedan with her new pewter handbag by Prada (she cannot deny she loves it already) and the _Runway_ mock-up in tow. She’s thankful for her sunglasses, because they hide her emotions from the outside world — should any slip past her iron-clad control, that is. In addition, the dark glasses serve as an effective tool for subconsciously instilling fear.

Measured steps take Regina inside the lobby and, today, she almost lets a smirk make its way onto her face. It should not be so satisfying to watch them all cower in her presence, but oh, it definitely is. Assistants, guards, secretaries and other distinguished executives (whose names she never bothered to learn) bow their heads in respectful greetings she does not return. As annoyed as she is with this day already, it’s delightful to have her path unobstructed by these peasants.

Oh, there’s no way a clacker will take her place on the elevator. Strutting in seemingly unfazed, Regina’s pleased when the woman realizes who she’s trying to board the elevator with and hurriedly leaves, apologizing.

Regina still applies for a private elevator every year. The Board always has their variations of the same excuse, “I’m sorry, _Mrs. Mills…_ You see, there are too many workers in the building, and…” She cannot decide if what bothers her is the fact that they are denying her request or if it’s the _Mrs. Mills —_ it’s _Regina._

This fear people have of boarding the elevator with her will do… for now.

Regina is already organizing the to-do-list for Lena in her mind. She was raised to be like this — cunning, devious, calculating, and organized to a fault. Plans have always made up a big part of her life. She would not be where she is now, in the prime of her career, had she not _planned_ to follow her own path (despite her mother’s wishes).

The 18th floor doors open swiftly and she finally removes her glasses. She steps outside the metal cabin and glances around, raising an eyebrow. No sign of Lena, of course. Sometimes she’s such a disappointment… Not an important one, though. Her past has been full of major disappointments, but there’s no point in reminiscing.

She sighs. Her employees really seem to think she’s oblivious to the fact that they’re never ready after the weekend ends. Regina’s a perfectionist. This means, for example, that a rack of clothes forgotten in the Sales Department corridor is transparent and ten times more annoying to her than anyone else. After such an event occurred, her resulting monologue made all the employees walk on eggshells for a whole month. Recalling the memory never fails to amuse her. She could also do without their incessant talking. They have the need to fill the short-lived quietness with _chatter_ until she has to resort to scathing words. Frankly, it’s exhausting.

If there’s one thing she despises, well, it’s nervous babbling.

That and _Fiona Fayette._ Insipid woman.

She passes the receptionist, who cheerfully says, “Good morning, Regina.”

“Save it.”

It’s when she’s turning around the corner from the first corridor that Lena basically pushes her to the side to accompany her. She’ll forgive her this once. There are more important matters to complain about.

“I don't understand why it’s so difficult for people to follow through with appointments...” she murmurs.

“I’m sorry, Regina, I actually confirmed last night—”

“How you _failed_ to make a simple confirmation has no excuse.” She interrupts Lena as they navigate through the maze of corridors, because honestly she does not want to hear it. “Make sure to _actually_ confirm my appointment with my hairdresser for tomorrow morning. Tell Ingrid I’m not going to approve the girl she chose for the double-page spread—I asked for royalty, poise and composure, she sent me a tired slouch. And cancel my meeting with Gold; I have more important things to attend to.”

As they make another turn, a worker avoids meeting her eye and scurries away. She loves how everything’s quiet until she’s inside her office, not a thing out of place.

“I should say to his assistant that...” Lena trails off, and it’s so predictable Regina rolls her eyes. Regina despises stupid questions. Since Lena knows this, she usually rephrases her sentences or trails off. As if it will make a difference.

“I don’t know…that’s _your_ job.” She throws the _Runway_ mock-up on top of Lena’s clipboard just for spite. From the corner of her eye, Regina sees Lena battling to reset the agenda on top. She doesn’t wait for her, of course. “And R.S.V.P. Yes to Maya’s party tonight. I want Sidney to drop me off at eight-thirty and pick me up at nine sharp.” This party isn’t worth her time, but for appearances sake…

“Nine o’clock…” She hears Lena mumble while writing it down.

They’re almost in front of the corner office now, and she doesn’t stop her instructions. “Call Anna from that organic market, tell her no for the twentieth time. No, I don't want golden delicious apples. I want _red_ delicious apples.” Ugh, these people. “Then… then call my husband, tell him to meet me at that restaurant with the great view after the party. Confirm the parent-teacher conference at Dalton tonight at seven. I need a dress delivered to the townhouse at eight for the party.”

Lena pushes open the glass doors, and Regina doesn't hesitate, despite the odd woman sitting at the second assistant’s station. “Tell James I saw the Polaroids that Testino sent for the Dior campaign next month. I want them to look livelier. Is that too much to ask for?” She removes her coat and tosses it on Lena’s desk, together with her handbag.

“No?”

“Those colors were uninspiring,” Regina concludes. She starts walking in the direction of her office, but stops and turns to Lena again to shoot the last instruction for the moment. “I need to see all the things Jefferson has for the new cover. Call him here.” She finally glances at the wide-eyed blonde sitting at the second assistant’s chair. “Who is _that?”_

[SQ]

Emma doesn't know what to do. Well, she knows that she’s feeling overwhelmed, but this…this warm feeling spreading like a wildfire from head to toe should not be happening.

She hadn't expected to be in her potential boss’s presence so soon, for starters. Then, _Regina_ turns out to be a gorgeous woman, not old like Emma had imagined. She’s intimidating, besides beautiful, and clearly sharp-witted. Regina speaks in a husky, murmuring voice Emma has to strain her ears to hear. It’s like she knows the power she has, and relishes it.

When Emma hears Regina ask about her, Lena begins spluttering an answer. “She’s… nobody. Um, Human Resources sent her up about the new assistant position, and she’s not suitable, of course… I will see her out now.”

They’re inside the main office when she hears Regina say, “No, no. The last three you sent me were terrible. So send her in, I will make my own decision. That's all.” It makes Emma’s hands start to sweat.

Lena comes out of the main office still looking at Regina for a few seconds, probably as shocked as Emma is. In the moment that follows, she whirls to Emma with a glare, and whispers, “She wants to see you. Go.”

“She does?” Emma asks as if she hadn't already heard it, getting up in the process, flabbergasted.

Leaving her briefcase behind the desk as instructed, Emma grabs her résumé and shuffles to the main office. Once inside, rocking on her heels, the sound of her heartbeat is pounding in her ears. She cannot even stop to admire the place. For that reason, even if Regina has not acknowledged her presence (shuffling around with the papers on her desk as she is), Emma breathes out, _“Hi.”_

Regina gives a cursory glance at her. “Who are you?”

Can she sit down in one of these chairs in front of her? Her legs feel like jelly.

“I’m Emma Swan.” Her hands shake as she hands over her CV. “I recently— I just graduated last year from Storybrooke University—”

“And what are you doing here?”

“I c-came to New York to be a journalist, so I sent letters out everywhere… a-and got a call from Eleanor up at Human Resources here at Elias-Clarke.” Her voice is shaking, but she stands tall as Regina, with her dark eyes, seems to stare right at her soul. “I-I think I could do a good job as your assistant. Basically, it’s Runway or Auto Universe.”

“So you don't read the magazine.” Regina states quite accurately, now busy with the _International Herald Tribune_ instead of Emma. It’s unfair how Regina still looks fashionable while wearing rimless glasses. She pulls off the look quite effortlessly; whereas when Emma wears glasses, she feels like she’s back in her high school geek phase. That’s why she made the point of wearing contact lenses for the occasion, and not her black-rimmed glasses.

Oh, god, should she lie or... “Um, no,” she says instead. Damn her terrible fabrication skills. She can always figure out when someone is lying, calls it a ‘superpower’ even, but, of course, when it’s for her benefit, she panics and tells the absolute truth.

“And before today, you had never heard of me…”

Emma winces accordingly. “No?”

“You are dowdy and you have no sense of fashion…”

Emma titters. “Well, I think that depends on your point of—”

Regina raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “That wasn’t a question. Your red _pleather_ jacket is proof enough,” she interjects.

Setting the newspaper aside, Regina’s now giving Emma her full attention, making Emma feel small under the scrutiny. She starts telling her _probably-will-not-be-my-boss-in-a-million-years_ about her accomplishments while at university, such as being the editor-in-chief of the Storybrooke Daily Mirror and winning a national writing competition.

It appears that Regina doesn’t care, because she tilts her head, waves toward the door and says, “That’s all.”

And that should have been it. End of story, end of her career ambitions — end of her dreams.

Yes, that should have been the end, but Emma has never thrown in the towel before. Not when administering a newspaper meant sleepless nights, not when that horrible girl in kindergarten made her life hell because Emma broke her pencil (by accident, might she add), not when Dad tried his best to thwart her from choosing journalism over law school.

And she will not give up now.

“Look, I get it. I don’t fit in here… like, what the hell am I doing here, with my unfashionable clothes,” she pauses, looking to the floor briefly, before raising her eyes to meet Regina’s,  “except I will do my best.” Regina removes her glasses and regards her with an inscrutable gaze. Emma crosses her arms then continues. “And even though I have been treated horribly since the moment I stepped inside this building, I would commit one-hundred percent to the job. I learn fast and I will work very hard—”

“I got the exclusive you’ve requested, Regina, but mixing the Armani suit with those accessories will not work. It’s like she’d enjoy being somewhere else — so incredibly dull,” Jefferson deadpans as he circles around Emma and completely ignores her (just like before, she recalls). His sudden appearance and lack of acknowledgment cause Emma to trail off.

Regina hums in agreement, now analyzing whatever an ‘exclusive’ means. Emma’s had enough. “Thank you so much for your time,” Emma scoffs and prepares to leave the office.

Right before she’s completely out of the room, she hears, “You’ll start tomorrow. Go settle the paperwork at Human Resources.”  Emma turns around and does her best deer caught in headlights impression.

“Lena.” Regina calls out.

“Yes Regina.” Lena is by Emma’s side inside the office instantly, pad and pen in hand.

“Show the new girl to Human Resources. She starts tomorrow. Then I need a new blue Hermès scarf. That’s all,” Regina says airily, and Emma realizes that dismissing people is probably her boss’s favorite activity. Also, there’s the matter of _Oh my god, Emma, she’s your boss. You got the job. Onion rings, here I come!_

[SQ]

Regina almost did not believe it. What the hell is wrong with her today? Not chewing out whoever chose that monstrosity they called accessories for next issue’s cover? And— worst of all… hiring that woman as her second assistant? Since when does _Regina Mills_ take chances on unfashionable women who wear outdated slacks, floral patterned sweaters and, she shudders, fake leather jackets? Scarlet colored, no less.

“Did you just—”

“Jefferson, if your next words are not a solution for this mess of a cover, then I quite honestly do not want to hear it,” she tells him in a threatening tone.

“As I was saying,” he coughs, “we could reshoot the cover with the right jewelry…”

She continues to listen to his ideas while tapping her fingers on her desk, (because she’s a natural multitasker), and questioning herself again… Why take a chance… why hope that— what’s her name again? Not that it matters, of course. No use in learning the girl’s name if she will not last. Why hope that _Emma Swan_ will succeed? Well, she has an impressive résumé and work-ethic... She smirks. The girl certainly had no qualms about saying exactly how she felt after being dismissed.

Regina cannot lie — she _has_ missed a challenge. Her routine, while varied in terms of opulent events and appointments, has become monotonous. Most of the time, she’s already aware of what’s to come next: run-throughs without sufficient preparation; incompetent people; fights with her husband; and, dare she say the one that matters the most, Henry’s eyes filling with sadness, because she’s rarely home to play games or tuck him in. Because he hears her arguing with Robin although he’s on the third floor, and because _It’s so loud, mom._

Brushing aside unwanted thoughts — she does not get misty-eyed while working, that’s reserved for her employees — Regina tries to picture Jefferson’s suggestions. They are not useless, she’ll give him that. “Have Lena call Dolce & Gabbana to match their gold collection with the suit… Actually, call Lena here.” She reconsiders, waving the hand holding her glasses dismissively. “Otherwise she’s prone to make mistakes,” she adds as an afterthought.

Glasses now pushed down her nose, Regina grabs her pen and goes back to the exclusive, clearly done with the conversation. After crossing out the ridiculous accessories, she sighs — and hopes that tomorrow she won't send another assistant running away in tears. Is she too strict? She supposes so. But she does it to achieve greatness. There’s something about Emma Swan, though, that is intriguing and she wishes to learn what it is before she inevitably runs.

[SQ]

There’s a long day of fidgeting at home (after her lunch, of course) waiting for Neal’s shift at the restaurant to be over so she can go over there and tell him and August and Lily the news during dinner. Emma’s excited. She’s nervous. She doesn’t know what to feel anymore! Leaning back on her lumpy couch and looking up, she tries to imagine a good outcome for tomorrow. None come to mind, however.

Emma has a knack for being a pessimist sometimes — worst-case scenarios are often more fun to imagine, aren’t they?

She, Neal and their friends have done ‘Monday Night Get-Together’ every week after Emma and Neal arrived in New York. They’d all known each other in Storybrooke and had sought each other out for support while navigating the big city. Although they attended different schools later, they didn’t lose touch. After Emma’d presented them to Neal, whom she’d met at university, the four of them had been inseparable — it made the transition to the big city a lot easier, knowing that they were here as well.

Now they are sitting at a round table, catching up after a pleasant dinner consisting of burger and fries — Emma’s favorite meal. She’s in the middle of explaining the events of her quest through the Elias-Clarke building. _What a crazy day._

“The guy came in and completely ignored me, cutting off my ‘last chance’ speech,” she marks her words with air quotes. “Then Regina started paying attention to him — it was like she had forgotten I was even there to begin with. So I thanked her in a really not polite way...” she winces and they chuckle, probably already imagining her doing exactly that. “And, out of nowhere, she said I will start tomorrow.” Emma blinks and smiles, finishing her story. She’s still shocked, if she has to be honest.

“Wait, wait, _wait._ You got a job at a _fashion_ magazine?” Neal’s mouth is open in shock.

“Yeah?”

He closes his mouth and smirks. “Are you sure it wasn’t a phone interview?” he teases.

“Hey! What the hell, Neal!” she exclaims, taking mock offense.

Her friends laugh at her expense. “Well, Regina _is_ known for her unpredictability,” says August.

“Okay, August… How is it that you know who she is and I didn’t?”

“My boyfriend’s a model. I’m reading Runway all the time, Emma.”

“That explains a lot,” Lily comments with her wine glass raised.

“Good point,” Emma concedes, munching on a fry.

“Seriously though, Regina Mills is a huge deal. I bet a million girls would kill for this job,” he explains. And it’s kind of creepy that his words are so similar to Lena’s.

“Yeah, that’s great and all, but I don’t care about the fashion aspects of it, you know that.”

“Look,” Lily starts matter-of-factly, “you gotta start somewhere, right? I mean, glance around. This place Neal works in is a dump,” she smirks.

They take turns teasing each other. “Oh yeah, Lily? What about that gallery you work at doing… what is it that you do again?” Neal tosses back, and Lily narrows her eyes.

Wanting to avoid an argument, August says, “At least I already have my dream job.”

“You’re an accountant.” Lily deadpans, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh, you’re right. My job sucks,” he chuckles.

“No, August…” Emma pats his arm in comfort.

“It’s true, though. I can’t wait to finally publish something.” While their ambitions are slightly different, Emma can still sympathize with his struggles.

“I say we toast,” Neal says. “To jobs that pay the rent.”

Everyone raises their glasses and repeats after him. It makes Emma feel a little bit better.

[SQ]

After Emma’s departure, there’s a long time of reorganizing for the cover in the morning, followed by the actual shoot in the afternoon. The model takes too long to understand what she wants so Regina stays in a permanent scowl for the rest of the shoot. Overall, there’s nothing new there.

It comes as no surprise that her mood further deteriorates when she has to wait fifteen minutes for the parent-teacher conference to start because _‘The previous meeting is running a little bit late. Would you mind so terribly waiting a few minutes?’_ Um, she _does_ in fact mind, especially because she needs to get to the townhouse, change into the Alexander McQueen dress and make her presence known at Maya’s party.

The party is a boring affair, as usual. She moves around the venue, champagne flute in hand, socializing with people who either _hate_ her or want to _be_ her, and Regina does not know which of those two options she dislikes the most. Maya drawls out her name, “ _Regina_ ,” and is the perfect host, although she knows Maya (or, as Regina prefers to call her in her mind, _Maleficent)_ is one of the people who fit the first category. She has yet to ascertain the reasons for that. Not that she particularly cares — it could simply serve as an advantage somehow.

Now she’s sitting at a table for two at the “restaurant with the great view” (also known as Pastis). Across from her, Robin has a sour look on his face, and she’s staring at the menu like it will provide her some answers on how to start a conversation. Try as she might, it does not work. The atmosphere is stifling. Even though she’s used to the stares she cannot avoid from being constantly on the spotlight, she prays no one picks up on the unbearable tension radiating from their table. It’s mortifying. If she sits any more rigidly because of it, it’s almost certain that her spine will suffer.

When did things change so much she cannot recognize the man she married four years ago?

“How was your day?” Robin asks, and she’s aware of his tight grip on the menu. He’s angry, she realizes. She failed to arrive on time again — the traffic was unexpected.

“Oh, nothing much…” Regina trails off, flicking one of her curls away from her face. “Henry’s teacher says he excels in Arts, though he’s been having trouble with Math. I’m going to ask him if he wants some help.”

“Hmm.” Robin nods and they go back to their menus. He’s never really interested in hearing about Henry.

Thankfully, a waiter breaks the awkward silence. “Hello, I’m Josh and I’ll be your server tonight. Are you ready to order?”

[SQ]

They are inside the town car on the way home when Robin mutters, “There I was, waiting for you again, Regina.”

She presses the button to slide the partition screen up, lest Sidney overhear another of their arguments. “Robin, I tried to get to the restaurant as soon as I could. Those people just wouldn’t stop hovering,” she explains, still patient.

Regina looks at his profile as he shakes his head and smiles a tight-lipped smile, staring at nothing in particular. “Of course…” He looks at her briefly, nodding. “Yes, because your _husband_ waiting for over half-an-hour means less to you than your so-called _friends_ do, Regina.”

“ _Robin._ ” She sneers. “You _know_ I’m not there to pat their heads and say how grateful I am to be in their lives.” She massages her temples; they have had this discussion over a million times. “It’s _business_.”

He scoffs and turns his gaze to the window. “And having— having your _quotes_ on Page Six about their designer dresses is really important for business,” he says quietly, probably rolling his eyes in the process. However, she understands the meaning behind his words perfectly.

“I won’t listen to your belittling of my job again.” She presses her lips together in annoyance.

Whenever they argue, which is becoming frequent, Robin sleeps on the guest bedroom for the night. Tonight isn’t any different.

[SQ]

“Oh, Neal… You should see the way everyone at Runway dresses,” Emma recalls as they stroll down the streets of New York hand-in-hand to their apartment. “I felt completely underdressed.”

“Come on… You’ll just manage the phones and get coffee. You need an expensive suit for that?”

“To be honest, I think I might. With the way they looked at me—”

He pushes her closer and says, “Well, I think you look great no matter what.”

Smiling, she shakes her head and gives him a kiss to the cheek. “ _I_ think you’re a liar.”

They laugh softly. “Let’s go home.”

[SQ]

A shrill noise wakes her from her amazing dream consisting of giant grilled-cheeses and a warm sunny afternoon in the park. Opening her eyes just a fraction, she peers at the phone and wills it to stop, to no avail. Holding her head in one hand, she grabs the device from the nightstand and answers it.

“Hello?” asks Emma, her mind clouded with sleep. She clears her throat.

 _“Emma, Regina decided to kill the leather jackets story for April.”_ What? Kill leather jackets? _“She’s pulling up the Givenchy shoot from May…”_ Emma’s officially lost. _“You need to come to the office right now.”_ That definitely wakes her up. _“And pick up her coffee order on the way. You’ll need to write this down, it’s very important.”_

“One minute!” Emma shoots up from the bed and goes in search of something that writes and a piece of paper. She ends up with a small pencil and a napkin in her desperation. Putting on her glasses, she says, “Okay, I’m ready.”

 _“Finally,”_ Lena sighs. _“She will want one no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot…”_ Emma writes it down as fast as she can, because Lena isn’t stopping. _“…and three drip coffees with room for milk from Starbucks.”_

What type of order is this?

 _“Oh, searing hot. And I mean hot. ”_ Lena emphasizes. _“Otherwise, don’t even bother entering the building. I’m serious.”_ The line is cut off.

She glances at the alarm clock on her nightstand and can almost hear ‘6:15 am’ laughing at her. Is the sun even out at this time?

Oh, great. This will be fun. An amazing way to start her Tuesday!

[SQ]

“Is there some reason my coffee isn’t here yet? Is it beyond her abilities to accomplish this simple task?”

“No. No, she’s on her way and—” Lena stumbles through her words, clearly agitated.

Regina rolls her eyes and goes back inside her office. The new assistant is already failing? Such a shame. And here Regina thought the woman stood a chance.

Why does she feel slightly disappointed?

She busies herself with Ursula and Greg’s ideas on the Givenchy shoot she has brought forward from May to April. She can imagine the earful Mr. Gold will be giving her soon. No matter. There is no way leather jackets will become a fashion trend in a couple of months. It was enough having seen that cheap excuse for a jacket Emma was wearing yesterday. No need to see it in large quantities all over New York. She shudders at the thought.

“These will do,” Regina points to a hat and earrings set on one of the pictures. “We should go for something more practical for women at work, while being chic and modern at the same time, so here…” she trails off as she sees Lena strutting inside her office with her coffee order in tow. Finally. “Lena. Do tell the new assistant the next time she’s late she’s fired,” she says, grabbing her latte. She barely manages to stop the surprise from showing on her face. The coffee is still hot — no new assistant has ever managed it before on their first attempt. She usually has to throw it out and demand another.

Will wonders never cease?

“Also, don’t forget to let me know as soon as Dolce & Gabbana calls back. Give the new Lena some instructions, because I cannot bear to see another second of her sitting there,” Regina nods to Emma, “doing absolutely nothing.”

“Will do, Regina.”

What is she even wearing?

[SQ]

There’s no time to change into her contacts after Lena calls. Emma has to settle for black-rimmed glasses and a loose ponytail both of which make her groan in frustration. So much for professionalism…

Just like yesterday, in her haste to leave she can’t think about her wardrobe choices too much. A green sweater on top of a white buttoned-up shirt and a plaid skirt is her last minute outfit. Considering it is February and winter is definitely making her shiver, even more when she recalls she has to walk through New York’s streets soon, she puts on black tights and her favorite Dr. Martens.

As soon as Emma manages to get inside the building with a tray of extremely hot coffee (she may have burnt her hand in her haste to get there in time) she calms down slightly and tells herself everything will be fine. Lena doesn’t want to hear her excuses about how the barista at Starbucks took their sweet time on her order thanks to it being for _Regina Mills_ . For this reason, they wanted it to be _perfect_. Ugh.

Lena simply tells her to hang her coat inside the closet full of much more expensive coats. Seeing the closet contents makes her swallow thickly. They are one more reminder that her chances of maintaining this job are very slim.

A few minutes ago, Lena grabbed the coffees from her and went inside Regina’s office. Emma now hears “…the next time she’s late she’s fired,” and immediately knows it’s meant for her.

She can’t screw up again.

Lena comes out of Regina’s office a few moments later, carrying a tray of some half-eaten breakfast food. “Okay… We’ve already established you’re totally wrong for this job. However, you’re not going to mess this up. No.” Lena shakes her head, setting the tray on the counter in the adjacent kitchenette behind Emma’s station. “It’s my head at stake here. So listen up.”

“Right, yeah— yes.” Emma says, getting the keyboard and mouse from the hidden drawer on her desk. She turns her chair to Lena, who’s still fretting over something in the kitchen. Lena has the power to give Emma a headache — authority and restlessness appear to be doing battle in her every movement.

“First of all, you and I answer the phones. Each and every phone call must be answered. If a call rolls to voicemail, she gets very upset. So if I’m not here, Emma,” she explains, coming out of the kitchen and motioning in the general direction of Emma’s station, “you are chained to this desk. No excuses.”

“But what if I need to…?”

“No. Excuses.” Lena says through gritted teeth. “You know… one time an assistant left the desk because she sliced her hand open with the letter opener. Regina missed Yves Saint Laurent before he boarded a fifteen hour flight. Needless to say, she now works for TV Guide,” Lena gives her a twisted smile and retreats to her side of the outer office.

“Got it. Chained to the desk.” Who knew Regina could be _this_ terrifying?

Lena sounds so full of herself when she goes on and on about how Emma and she have completely different jobs. Emma will run errands and get coffee. Lena will take care of Regina’s schedule (which she’s currently printing), appointments and expenses. “And, of course, I get to go with her to Paris for Fashion Week in the fall,” she says dreamily. “I get to wear couture, go to all the shows and, um, all those parties… I meet all of the designers… It’s divine, from what the last first assistant has said.”

Emma listens attentively to Lena, making mental notes on everything she needs to know to man the desk. Although she’s not interested in fashion, going to Paris could mean meeting journalists from all over the world. She just has to last one year. That is, if she survives her first day.

Lena comes over to the front of Emma’s desk and places the schedule on a clipboard there. “Okay, so… Stay here,” says Lena, her tone serious again. “I’m going to the Art Department to give them the Book.”

“The…?” Emma trails off.

“This is the Book,” Lena proudly displays the big binder full of post-it notes she’s now holding. “It is a mock-up of what is in the issue we are currently working on. We deliver it to Regina’s townhouse every night, and she returns it to us in the morning with her notes. Normally, it would be the job of the second assistant to do this… but until you have proven to be trustworthy and not a total psycho, I get stuck with the _lovely_ task of waiting around for the Book.”

The job gets more and more complicated by the minute and Emma does not know what to make of it. Run errands? Wait for the Book? Paris?

Suddenly, the phone rings. “Um, should I…?” Emma asks, hesitating.

“Let me, as an example. The next one is yours.” Lena grabs the phone on her own desk and answers it. “Regina Mills’ office. No, she’s not available...” Lena’s typing away on her keyboard and Emma pays attention to all the details, lest she miss something. “Yes, I will tell her you called,” she finishes, ending the call.

Emma really hopes she has to follow the same script for the next call.

“Well, I’m off to deliver this. Do not leave the desk and you’ll be fine.” Lena encourages, holding the Book like a precious baby in her arms. She exits through one of the glass doors.

Taking a deep breath, Emma fiddles with the impersonal desk and promises herself that if she lasts for a week she’ll be bringing in a portrait or two to decorate it. At least there are hundreds of pens and pencils neatly organized and at her disposition. Oh God, what if Regina calls for her now and—

The phone is ringing.

Her eyes widen and she pushes a wayward lock of hair out of her face before reaching for the phone. Here we go. “Hello. Mrs. Mills’ office… Yes, I meant… Regina Mills’ office,” she rectifies, wincing. “Um… she’s in a meeting right now. Can I please take a message?” she asks, back on track. “Mhmm. Okay. Could you spell Dolce please?” The line clicks. “Hello?”

“I guess not…” She mumbles to herself, writing down that ‘D and Gab Ana’ called and that they have the pieces ready (whatever that means). She’ll remember how to pronounce the name to Lena, she’s sure.

Okay, so Emma may have failed quite successfully on her first phone call, but it could have been worse, she thinks positively. What’s important is that she remains alert and tries to block out Regina’s voice coming from the main office, because it is intimidating and pleasant all at once. When the next call comes, she’ll be ready.

Emma is so absorbed in her musings that she misses Jefferson’s presence until he’s clearing his throat in front of her. She jumps a little when she realizes he’s there.

“Well, well, look at you…” he says. “Still cannot believe she gave you the job, New Jersey girl.”

“Yeah, yeah, she did... Actually I’m from Storybrooke.”

“Where’s that again?”

“Maine.”

“Ah, now I see it,” Jefferson smirks, looking at the schedule on her desk.

“ _Lena._ ” She hears Regina say, but since it has nothing to do with her, Emma marvels at the Apple computer she has all to herself.

“ _Lena?_ ” Now it’s starting to get annoying. Where’s Lena, by the way? Shouldn’t she be waiting here—

“She means you,” Jefferson provides.

_Oh._

Emma runs inside the room and notices the portfolios on top of a round glass table located at the left side of the office, where her boss and two other people are examining them. She didn’t have the time to look around the office yesterday and doesn’t get the impression she will today either. She waits for Regina to acknowledge her presence in silence, adjusting her glasses.

“…I don’t want more ideas. I want actual _good_ ones.” Regina sighs, drumming her fingers on her crossed arms. “I say, ‘Greg and Ursula. Put together a portfolio with proper selections.’” She gestures to them. “You two give me uninspiring and ridiculous ideas not even _I_ can save from the total disaster it is. Is it so hard to do as I asked?”

“We could just cut this out…” Greg suggests.

“That’s not what I asked you. I specifically told you— Oh, there you are, Lena. How many times do I have to raise my voice for you to listen?”

Now Emma does something that will come to ‘bite her in the ass’, as she likes to put it, so fast she will only much later realize that throwing caution to the wind is not the best idea. Not when she wants to impress her boss. And especially not when said boss has just insulted two people’s jobs with one stone.

Emma _corrects_ Regina.

[SQ]

“Actually, it’s Emma. My name is Emma... Emma Swan.”

Regina arches an eyebrow. Then she chuckles, but it is not a pleasant sound. Her new assistant has a backbone after all… She cannot allow it. Not at this stage of the game. Emma has much to learn still — she is not taking the job seriously yet.

So she starts spouting off instructions to throw Emma off. “Go to Calvin Klein. I need ten skirts—”

She is not expecting to be interrupted so soon. Honestly, has Lena taught nothing to the girl?

“What kind of skirts do you…”

“Please bore someone else with your questions. And confirm that we have Pier 59 tomorrow at 8:00 am. Remind Kathryn I need to see the satchels today at mid-afternoon for tomorrow’s shoot. Tell Ingrid I’ll take Dorothy if Mulan isn’t available. Did Demarchelier confirm?”

“D-Demarch…?”

It shouldn’t be this satisfying to reduce Emma to a stuttering idiot, frozen and eyes wide in shock. But it just is. “ _Demarchelier_ ,” Regina corrects. “Get him on the phone.”

However, she’s not done. She has to comment on Emma’s perception of business attire. Just as Emma has whirled around to probably try and complete any of the tasks given, she calls her back. “Oh, and _Lena?”_

Emma turns to her, having learned her place. “Y-yes?”

Regina smirks and does a slow perusal of Emma, from her scuffed Dr. Martens to the awful shamrock sweater. She hopes her point was made. “That’s all.”

[SQ]

By lunchtime, Emma is replaying the wonderful image in her head of herself throttling Regina, Lena and any other worker in no particular order. Either wearing a sensible pantsuit, high-heels or any other designer clothing is enough to fill the bill.

Regina has proven to be as demanding as she had sounded yesterday when giving instructions to Lena. Emma had been overwhelmed the day before, yes, but nothing compares to being on the receiving end of the instructions. And she can’t shake off the wolfish smile on Regina’s face when Regina stared her down from head to toe — she almost withered right there, she swears.

Emma is now in the Calvin Klein _showroom;_ a place she never knew existed until this moment. Patricia, an assistant there with a bubbly personality, is showing her to the clothing rail with a variety of skirts. It’s when Regina calls her for the hundredth time — Emma should really change her ringtone to something else, because the constant _blip blip blip_ is grating on her nerves — that she realizes people are truly ruthless in this line of work.

“ _What do they have?”_ Regina asks over the phone, sounding deeply bored.

“They have… skirts…?” Emma fumbles with the rack, moving the hangers around.

Regina sighs exasperatedly over the line. “ _Who’s there with you?_ ”

“Patricia.”

“ _She’s completely useless... And unattractive. Find Maggie, and get the skirts with her and_ only _her for tomorrow’s shoot.”_

The call ends. Just like that. What does the salesperson’s attractiveness have to do with the skirts? Emma has no clue, but who is she to question it.

Emma coughs and fiddles with her glasses — Patricia is _right_ behind her, and is head over heels for Regina Mills, if the “Ugh, she’s such an icon… Probably doesn’t remember me though,” she’d said prior to the call serves as an indicator.

And now Emma has to turn around and ask, “Is Maggie here…?” knowing that she’s crushing someone’s heart.

Since Emma’s already complaining, she can’t forget how infuriating is the fact that Regina never greets her on the phone or says ‘goodbye’. No — she’s straightforward and no-nonsense on her calls, as if five seconds of pleasantries are not an affordable waste of time.

Emma’s also tired of hearing ‘ _I would kill for this job. You’re so lucky!’_ Oh yeah… Tell that to the three year-old M &M’s she’s just eaten from the town car. Apparently, Regina goes to work with Sidney, her driver, for over three years and hasn’t once touched the sweets. Not even Henry eats the damned M&M’s (Emma finds out he’s Regina’s son just a few minutes later, when Lena calls to remind her to visit Dalton because ‘Henry has forgotten his assignment there.’).

At least Sidney is patient and drives her around and that is _so much better_ than using the subway. Even if she has to run around on foot a lot and finally learns what ‘you’ll run errands and get coffee’ means. She’s starting to hate the tourists, though. They think it’s a good idea to stop right in the _middle_ of the sidewalk to take pictures of every little thing. It never used to bother her, but since the fifth apology she’s had to give after running into another photographer wannabe today, it definitely annoys her _very much_.

She’s been inside the CK showroom. She’s grabbed bags upon bags of Dolce & Gabbana’s products. She went to Dalton. She’s run to gather the thirty Hermès scarves order for Regina. And finally, she’s had Sidney take her back to the Elias-Clarke premises for her to get another scalding Starbucks for Regina per Lena’s request.

All this _before_ lunch.

“Oh my God, what took you so long?” Lena asks, coming around her own desk to pull the door open for Emma. “I have to pee!” she whispers quite loudly.

Emma, on the other hand, still struggles to enter the corner office while carrying the sacks of skirts, the coffees, the scarves and other bags she doesn’t remember getting on her way here. Her hair is even messier than before, if that’s possible; and she’s pretty sure her tights have holes in them.

Of course, Lena doesn’t help at all.

“You haven’t peed since I left, like, over four hours ago?” Emma asks astonished, setting everything down on her desk, which is a total mess already. She frowns at it and attempts to arrange the bags somewhat.

“I’ve been manning the desk, haven’t I?” Lena sneers.

All of a sudden, in comes Regina with her killer heels and form-fitting dress, not even glancing their way when she pushes open the glass door.

“Oh, hi,” Emma says awkwardly from her place behind the desk. She’s been nervous as hell around Regina after the ‘stare-down’ incident a few hours ago.

Regina’s response is to throw her coat and bag in a practiced move on top of Emma’s desk before going inside her office.

If Emma wasn’t so shocked she would mutter _bitch_ under her breath.

Who’s she kidding? She doesn’t have the guts to insult her boss and risk her hearing it.

“ _Do the coat!_ ” Lena hisses, snapping her fingers in its direction.

“Wha—”

“Hang the coat.” Lena says enunciating her words pointedly.

“Oh! Right.” Emma is so not prepared for these… unspoken rules around here. How is she supposed to know all of this?

While Emma is hanging it, Lena tells her to be on alert; the phones will be ringing nonstop since it is run-through day. “People are panicking. The run-through is at 12:30.”

“Run-through…?”

“Editors bring in options for the shoot, and Regina selects what she wants. She chooses every single thing in every single issue. Run-throughs are really important… you should know this, Emma.”

Yes, of course, because on the ‘need-to-know basis’ so far, she will definitely know what a ‘run-through’ means.

“Anyway, I get twenty minutes for lunch, and you get fifteen. When I come back, you can go.”

 _Fifteen?_ They think she’s what, the Flash?

[SQ]

The Elias-Clarke cafeteria is bustling with activity once she gets inside. Adjusting her glasses, she heaves a tired sigh and gets behind the line with her tray. The buffet doesn’t have anything mildly interesting, but the pasta calls to her nonetheless.

While she waits for her turn, Emma glances around and notices the magazine advertisements lining up the walls. It’s no surprise at this point that _Runway_ is the first and biggest one. She rolls her eyes. First day and she can’t bear another second of seeing _Runway_ displayed anywhere, thus her aching neck when she turns her head quickly as if it’ll erase the magazine from existence. She successfully hides her childish pout.

She has just taken a portion of pasta with tomato sauce to her plate when she hears, “Those carbs…”

She closes her eyes and counts to ten. Emma won’t take another comment about her appearance without punching someone in the face. And Jefferson seems like the perfect candidate at the moment. “What about it?”

“You might be the first one I actually see getting something else besides a salad around here.”

“So none of the girls eat anything?” she asks while serving herself to a portion of mashed potatoes.

“Bingo.” Jefferson smirks.

They are silent for a moment before he leans in, playful tone clear in his voice. “Are you trying to blend with St. Patrick’s Day?” he deadpans, pointing at her sweater. She glances down at it and rolls her eyes. “You do know we still have some time before the date, right.”

Emma clenches her jaw — despite the comment being funny, she won’t let him get to her. “I don’t really care if you think my clothes are awful. I’m not going to be in fashion forever, that’s for sure,” she defends herself. Jefferson hums, so she takes it as indication that he’s really listening. “So I don’t see the point in changing everything about myself just for the job.”

“Yes, that’s true…” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Inner beauty is really what this multibillion-dollar industry is all about.” Jefferson’s lips curl up as if he’s told the biggest joke ever.

She doesn’t get to rebuff, nor eat — Jefferson’s cellphone pings and she’s being ushered away from the cafeteria because: _‘Regina’s always fifteen minutes early.’ ‘Which means?’ ‘She’s pushed the run-through up a half-an-hour. You’re already late.’_

[SQ]

They are waiting for the elevator. Everything’s fine until an older man joins them.

“Mr. Gold,” Jefferson greets.

“Jefferson.” Mr. Gold pauses, leaning heavily on his cane. “How’s the issue going?”

Mr. Gold, as Jefferson had called him, is dressed to the nines with his expensive dark suit. His silver hair is cut short, and despite the noticeable limp in his leg, he’s still imposing, an aura of power rooted to him. Emma gets the feeling this man is important, so she stays silent and watches their dialogue unfold.

“Oh, fine, fine. March is always seamless.”

Silence. Emma clears her throat to avoid saying anything she might regret, while praying for the numbers until their floor to decrease faster. _Come on, come on…_

Mr. Gold clearly isn’t interested in the March issue, though. “I heard Regina killed the jackets story for April and pulled up the Givenchy shoot. What’s that costing me?”

“About 400,000, I’d say.” Jefferson says rather flippantly.

Emma refrains herself from spluttering in time. _So much money!_

They board the elevator, Mr. Gold’s cane tapping on the floor as they walk inside it.

“Robert Gold,” the not-so-mysterious man introduces himself, turning to her with an outstretched hand. Oh my.

Thankfully, Jefferson comes to her rescue. “Oh, this is Emma Swan, Regina’s new assistant.”

She shakes hands with him. “Emma... What a lovely name.” Okay… so he’s creepy as well as powerful. Good to know. “Welcome to Elias-Clarke. A million girls would kill for that job, certainly.”

_You don’t say._

He leaves the elevator and Jefferson senses her question before she voices it. “He’s the chairman of Elias-Clarke.”

Damn.

[SQ]

Begrudgingly, Regina admits to herself that having a somewhat competent second assistant makes her job ten times easier.

Arriving home before six is nothing short of a miracle.

It annoys her though — Emma was not supposed to survive as well as she did. Emma has a stubborn streak in her. Regina wonders what will cause her to inevitably crack.

Regina has had assistants running out of her office crying their eyes out on their first day simply because she threw out the coffee for being two degrees less than acceptable.

She has never had such an unusual assistant in her seven years working as _Runway’s_ editor-in-chief though — someone who has absolutely no interest in fashion, who knows nothing of her not-so-favorable reputation with the media, who does not care whether Regina stares down at their horrible wardrobe choices or gives ridiculous demands their first day on the job.

Hanging her coat and walking up the steps to the foyer of the townhouse, Regina comes to a conclusion: just because she finds Emma intriguing, it does not mean she will succeed — especially with that sense of style she has. Only time will tell.

She _hates_ waiting.

[SQ]

“You should have seen the look she gave me! I thought I was going to melt, like…my flesh, ugh,” she groans, her sentences not really making sense, words stilted from catching up to the events of the day. “All because I corrected her! I mean, why can’t she say my name?” Emma whines, pacing back and forth in their living room, not being able to wind down before she has complained about everything to Neal.

He chuckles, so she stops in front of him and crosses her arms. “It’s not funny!” She almost stomps her foot.

He shakes his head. “Of course it isn’t—”

“You should see those people… They act like they’re the center of the universe or something!”

He places his hand on her shoulder and stops her from continuing her pacing. “Emma—”

“Ugh Neal…” She massages her temples, falling into his embrace. “And then, Regina is not satisfied until everyone is miserable,” she complains. He laughs softly.  “I’m serious,” she mumbles to his shoulder.

“Okay, come on, I made you a grilled cheese.” Neal tries to move them to get the plate from their table, but she remains still.

“It’s ridiculous.”

“What…what are you talking about, Em,” he asks.

She probably has thrown him for a loop. Oh well. When she’s frustrated like this, she doesn’t often make sense.

“You know what?” she inquires, detangling from his arms to look him in the eyes. “I just have to survive one year. One,” Emma holds up her index finger to mark her words. “One year. I’m not going to let this job, or Regina, get to me.”

[SQ]

Emma’s first week passes by in a hazy remembrance of demands and crazy requests each and every day she arrives at work. Emma’s mantra, just like Lena’s muttered _‘I love my job’_ whenever the day’s being particularly stressful, is _‘Be optimistic.’_ Her mother had always gone to great lengths to assure she’s known that there’s _hope_ everywhere, _just be optimistic._

_We’ll see about that._

On Wednesday, the “good morning” to Regina goes unanswered, but her promise to be optimistic doesn’t let it deter her.

“Get Kathryn…Where’s my breakfast? I don’t see my breakfast here.”

On Thursday, “Good morning, Regina.”

“Henry wants new art supplies… Pick up the Polaroids from the shoot and my shoes from Prada.”

On Friday, she doesn’t bother with pleasantries, only hangs up the coat tossed her way in record time. Emma can’t decide if the frown she saw marring Regina’s face was a figment of her imagination or if it was real, before Regina’s expression returned to its unreadable professionality.

Regina clears her throat, composed as usual. “Get me Kathryn…” she says, entering her office, Emma right behind her to take notes. “Also, get me a reservation for dinner for two tonight at…I don’t know, find somewhere suitable, I don’t care. Get me that paper I had in my hand yesterday. Find Jefferson and bring him here. Go,” Regina says, waving to the door, dismissing Emma.

On Saturday, she gets a call from Regina asking to e-mail her the notes she took from the last run-through, all typed, because Regina had mentioned once she could never understand Emma’s illegible handwriting. (There were five whole pages to type. She doesn’t leave the house to finish it.)

On Sunday, she sleeps in until 2 pm, and by then Neal has left. She has noticed they are barely having time to talk to each other. She hopes that with the Valentine’s coming up on Tuesday, she’ll be able to do something nice for him.

She arrives at work on Monday and realizes it’s been practically a week since she started the job — it feels like a lifetime has passed. Lena wasn’t kidding when she said being Regina’s assistant was not child’s play. _Be optimistic,_ she thinks bitterly as Regina throws her trench coat and Gucci bag on top of her desk and starts with her infinite orders for the day. There are demands she doesn’t realize what they mean until she’s asking Lena for clarification and Lena is rolling her eyes, sighing as if Emma should know, but is helping her just the same.

For all of Lena’s faults, at least she _helps_ Emma somewhat, because Lena’s own job depends on her success.

On Tuesday — namely Valentine’s Day — there’s a mix up with the Fendi bags Regina wanted for the run-through, which has to be postponed by a few hours. Neal calls her in the middle of the day telling her he has plans for their night out. She can’t bring herself to tell him the truth — she probably won’t be arriving home early, because Regina is not on her desk all day and that usually means she’ll stay until later proof-reading some article with those amazing rimless glasses she now knows come from Versace. (She feels proud of herself for knowing.)

That night, she’s late as she predicted. Neal’s whispered “I missed you,” when she finally crawls into bed hurts — more than if he had given her the silent treatment like he normally does.

If she’s honest with herself, she’s getting better at her job. She’s staying late every day in hopes of impressing Regina somehow. The truth is, whenever she does her job well, it is never acknowledged. However, if she makes a mistake, no matter how miniscule… oh, then Regina’s glare and monologues about incompetence leave her hands trembling, but she never once cries. Besides, Regina’s not so terrifying once she starts to really pay attention and do what is asked before it is actually asked. Regina will have to do more than a few speeches to bring her to the end of her tether.

[SQ]

 **_A Roster by Emma Swan_ ** _(February 14_ _th_ _)_

  * **_Regina Mills_** _–_ _Editor-in-chief_
  * **_Jefferson Hatter_** _–_ _Art Director_
  * **_Lena Green_ ** _– First Assistant_
  * **_Robert Gold_ ** _– Chairman of Elias-Clarke (creepy guy)_



[SQ]

Slipping her glasses off the bridge of her nose and setting them down on her desk, Regina rolls her neck in hopes of alleviating the kinks caused by several hours scanning one of this issue’s stories. It had a shocking amount of misplaced punctuation, yet it was not the worst piece she has ever revised, all things considered. Catherine won’t be fired yet, it seems.

Regina gets up from her chair, refraining from wincing as her aching feet make themselves known. She walks to the closest window, crosses her arms and overlooks the city lights. She closes her eyes briefly, remembering that today is Valentine’s Day. And that she had promised to be there in time for Henry’s bedtime. It’s already 11 pm.

She turns her head to stare at her second assistant, who is oblivious to her actions, concentrated as she is on the computer. Lena has already left for the day, no doubt having received the Book, ready for her pre-editing at home by now. And Emma, the poor woman never leaves before Regina does, she cannot fathom why. She’s not being paid for extra hours.

Emma is still a mystery to her. Despite Regina’s difficult — bordering on impossible — demands, Emma never complains before running to complete the day’s list. And if she’s being honest to herself, Emma is improving. She’s learning some of Regina’s habits and predicting more of what she wants — all this in less than a week. It’s certainly impressive.

What annoys her is Emma’s outfits. Anyone with the minimum of fashion sense would agree that it is atrocious. For god’s sake, how many abominable sweaters are still available in her wardrobe?

She is so absorbed in her musings that she misses Emma’s footsteps until Emma is clearing her throat to make her presence known. Years of practice ensure that Regina does not jump in fright. Instead she leisurely turns in her direction. “Is—is everything alright, Regina?”

One hand perches on her tilted hip, the other fiddles with the long Givenchy necklace she’s wearing today as she analyzes her assistant, not understanding the reason for such a question. After a moment of deliberation, she turns back to the view from her window. “Go home… Ms. Swan.” Her eyes widen, glad that she has her back to Emma. Why had she called her that, and not Lena? Emma has not proven herself yet, she admonishes herself.

Thankfully, Emma doesn’t question the use of her surname. A beat passes before she hears a soft “Good night, Regina,” from behind her.

When she whirls around, Emma is nowhere to be found. In the empty office, she whispers a good night and immediately scowls at herself. She must be exhausted to have become this… this… _sentimental_ (the word leaves a bad taste in her mouth) on Valentine’s Day. She tells herself it’s only because she knows Henry will be upset, and not for having realized that her strenuous relationship with her husband is going to get worse today.

[SQ]

“Regina, is that you?” she hears as soon as she gets inside and has closed the door. Why is Robin speaking so loudly when Henry is definitely in bed by now?

She walks up the steps by the entrance and struts to where she knows Robin is — the living room, probably having played the piano for a few hours. She finds him there, sitting on the sofa. He’s reading one of his economy tomes and nursing a cup of tea. _So damn British,_ she thinks while rounding where he’s seated to make herself comfortable — no, no, poise and composure, straightened shoulders, her mind supplies, and it sounds awfully like _Mother —_  on the armchair in front of him. Robin is aware of her power move. There’s the coffee table between them to show she’s not afraid of what he’ll say, not afraid of staring him down in equal measures.  

“Robin, could you  _not_ with all the noise? Henry’s already sleeping.” She answers in lieu of a proper greeting, giving him the cue to say what he has to.

“He sleeps on the third floor, Regina. The boy is fine— don’t try to…” Robin starts, setting his book on the coffee table with a loud thump. “To… to change the subject, Regina,” he warns. “You’re late, again! Do you know how embarrassing it was, having to say that I was not _sure_ to my colleagues what our plans for Valentine’s were because _you’re so bloody busy!_ ” he says, gesturing with his hands to prove his point. He crosses his arms and looks right in her eyes, willing her to contest him.

All the while, she stayed put, the corner of her lips uplifted in amusement. Regina places her forearms on the chair’s arms and leans back slightly, without breaking the staring contest. “Are you quite done?” she asks, her tone bored. “You _know_ I’m in the middle of March's issue, which means I cannot leave whenever I please. There are standards to meet and tasks to accomplish. I’m _sorry,_ my dear husband, that I could not have dinner with you today, but sometimes I have commitments just like _you_ do.”

Robin scoffs. “Yes, yes. God forbid you stay there until six pm _one day,_ right Regina?”

“Don’t you even start—” she says threateningly, getting up in a swift move.

He stands and she has to straighten her posture to avoid being shorter than him, even with her high Jimmy Choo’s. She miscalculated her move — _move,_ yes, everything for them is about getting the upper hand. When did things turn this sour?

“What, Regina. Don’t start _what_ _?”_ he snaps. “ _I_ rush out of important meetings while you’re there playing dress-up—” Robin realizes his mistake before she has fully processed what he said. “I-I mean…”

She blinks. “What did you just say?” whispers Regina, mirroring his crossed arms. She cannot believe it.

Robin sighs dejectedly, dragging a hand across his face. “I’m sorry. I did not mean that. I’m sorry.” Of course he meant it. He always does.

Regina moves around the seats and struts purposefully until she stops at the threshold. She whirls around until she can glare at her husband properly. “Until you start taking my job seriously,” she says, leaning forward, “I will not take you seriously.”

She’s leaving to climb up the stairs when she feels her wrist being caught in a gentle grip by Robin, “Regina, don’t be like that…”

Removing her wrist from his hand, with her back to him she states, “I don’t want to hear it.” She knows she needs time to calm down. She climbs the stairs and does not have to look back to know he’s watching her. His words have hurt her, they always do, except she never shows it on her face — she never quite managed to stave off her need for approval, which took hold as soon as she was old enough to understand what being a disappointment for Mother meant.

A few hours later, Regina refuses to spend the night awake looking over to the empty side of the bed, so she stubbornly closes her eyes and wills her mind to stop replaying tonight’s events over and over again. She cannot fathom why ask herself the reason she called her assistant by her surname, so soon — these slips never happened before. Regina’s intuition never fails her, though. There’s a sense, even if only a week has passed, that something in Emma Swan is waiting to bloom. She’s special, and Regina hasn’t quite figured out yet why. Nevertheless, she’s determined to find out.


	2. march 2006

> **From:** Emma Swan  <emmaswan@usrunway.com>
> 
> **To:** David Swan  <davidswan@hotmail.com>
> 
> **Sent:** Thursday, March 9th, 2006 00:25 AM
> 
> **Subject:** RE: Friday Plans
> 
> Hey Dad.
> 
> Yes, everything’s scheduled for Friday…oh my, that’s tomorrow! I can’t believe it’s already after midnight again.
> 
> Work is being crazy, but anyway, I’m really glad you and Mom are coming over on the weekend. Can’t wait to see you!
> 
> See you tomorrow! (Tell Mom I miss her, because you know how she is.)

[SQ]

It’s the end of a hectic week, and Emma is so glad. They’ve just started digging deeper into the April issue, so everyone's on edge. March went without a hitch, as Jefferson had predicted.

Having Regina’s itinerary updated on her computer comes in handy for making weekend with her parents. Since her boss is flying out to Miami tonight, Emma is able to book dinner and Chicago tickets for the evening.

The day passes by in a blur of either answering calls, going out on errands every hour or so and taking notes from the run-through so Regina can look over them afterwards.

Today is one of those blessed days she doesn’t have to stay at the office after hours. It’s already 6 pm; she’s just waiting her boss dismiss her.

Regina appears a few minutes later on the threshold and says to her, “Get me Demarchelier,” in that perfect French of hers.

And it makes Emma giddy to recall that, just over a month ago, she had no clue who Demarchelier was.

So Emma dials his number, which she has engraved in her memory. “Hi. I have Regina Mills calling for Mr. Demarchelier…” she trails off, waiting for her cue. “I have Patrick!” she shouts to Regina.

“Oh, Friday…” she sighs, relieved, when Regina picks up. “You doing anything over the weekend?” Emma asks Lena from her spot in the office.

She’s met with silence and a look that says ‘You’re really talking to me?’ while Lena reorganizes her own desk.

“At least we won’t have to be on call this weekend, right?”

“Yes. I’m so excited,” Lena says, rolling her eyes and moving away from her station to deliver some papers to the Art Department.

Emma gives up trying to make small-talk with her after that. She won’t let whatever is bothering Lena to bring her down.

[SQ]

“This place is lovely, Emma. How did you find it?” her mom asks once they are sitting at their table for three at _Craft Restaurant_.

“Oh, Neal recommended it. He applied here, but they wanted someone with more experience, I guess…”

They are looking at the menu and everything is mouth-watering. The best part: her parents said it’s their treat. _Best parents ever._

“Here,” her father says after they’ve ordered, handing over an envelope to Emma.

“ _David_ ,” Emma hears her mother admonish quietly, placing a hand on his arm from her place beside him. “We were going to wait to bring this up.”

“What’s this?” Emma asks, alternating her stare between the two. She glances down at the envelope as she opens it. She closes it immediately after, groaning when she sees the amount of _money_ inside. “What the hell, why did you—”

“We don’t want you to get behind on your rent, sweetie,” her mom says softly, flinching at Emma’s obvious discontentment. “See, David, this is why I wanted to wait.”

“You know we would have to touch on the subject either way, darling…” David tries to defend his case. Emma can already imagine them bickering about this on the way to their hotel afterwards, and making up as soon as possible because they can’t handle being mad at each other for a long period. Her parents have the sickliest sweet relationship she’s ever seen. They’ve been in love for over thirty years. If that isn’t true love, she doesn’t know what is.

Emma watches as Mary Margaret pushes back a strand of hair behind her ear, a habit she performs when she’s either nervous or agitated. The problem is, her mother’s hair is pixie cut, so she doesn’t really push anything back with this move. Mom sighs and admits, “We’re just worried, Emma.”

“Wha— why?”

“Well, your pay is terrible, for starters… We get e-mails from you at work in the middle of the night, like yesterday for example!” Dad exclaims, and Mom nods eagerly.

It’s so annoying the fact that they play the ‘united front’ so effortlessly — it meant no way to trick or sway one of her parents to do something she wanted when she was little.

“You’re not writing anything, honey,” Mary Margaret reminds her.

“Hey! That’s not true… I’m writing…e-mails,” she mumbles, frowning — even she realizes her defense is weak.

“You were accepted at Stanford Law. Turned it down to be a journalist…” Oh God, here it comes. Emma hates this, how everything’s always shifts back to her choice and how Dad still doesn’t fully support or understand it. He wanted her to choose something closer to his sheriff job in Storybrooke.  “And now…now you’re not even doing that.”

“David—” Mom tries to intervene, but Emma speaks instead.

“No Mom, let me…” she glances briefly at Mary Margaret before she stares right into her father’s eyes, and speaks her mind. “Look Dad, I get it. I do. But you have to trust me and my decisions. Being Regina’s assistant could be my ticket to anywhere in the publishing world...take Lena, for example,” she says, gesturing with her hands like she does whenever she’s passionate about something. “She’s going to Paris in a few months with Regina, and she’ll get to meet writers and editors!”

Dad sighs but doesn’t comment any further. Mom, however, places a hand on top of Emma’s and says, “Okay, Emma, I’m going to support what you’re doing if that’s what you think is best. But I’d really like if you could go to bed earlier, sweetheart.”

“You’re my baby girl, Emma,” her dad starts. Emma rolls her eyes but smiles fondly. “So when I receive e-mails of your daily complaints about the job, you can imagine why I worry.”

Messing with her long curls, Emma lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She can handle her father being slightly skeptical about it, but her mother always tries to see the good side of things or people, so having her support at least, means a lot.

“Okay, Mom, I’ll try… And Dad, I’m fine, I promise.” She pauses. “Now, where’s the food, I’m starving!” Emma grins, trying to alleviate the tension in the air.

It works, because even Dad laughs and says, “You’ve definitely got my appetite.”

They are drinking some wine when her phone goes off. She closes her eyes and winces. There’s only one person with this shrill ring enabled. _Regina._

“Oh, that’s my boss. I really have to take it…”

“No worries, take it, take it,” her mom motions to the cellphone in her hand.

Emma can’t even look at her parents when she answers the phone with “Hi. Regina?”

Regina, never one for pleasantries, gets straight to the point. “My flight has been canceled.”

Wait, what? Regina was going to come back to New York the same day she left? “Oh, why—”

“It’s some absurd weather problem…I-I need to get home tonight. Henry has a poetry reading tomorrow morning at school,” her voice trembles a bit.

“Um…” Oh my God, what is she going to do?

“Are you deaf? I need a flight back to New York,” Regina barks over the phone and it’s slightly terrifying how her tone completely changes in the span of a minute, but Emma doesn’t let her horror show on her face, lest her parents have more ammunition against her job.

“I’ll see what I can do and then call you back,” she says resolutely, back to being as professional as she can, even if Regina’s only response is to sigh and end the call.

It turns out there’s a hurricane in Miami, and that’s why Regina’s flight was cancelled.

Emma tries everything in her _I’m-Regina-Mills’-assistant-so-you-better-help-me_ powers with no luck. Her parents are driving her crazy as they walk through Times Square to the musical. They don’t care— no, they _don’t understand_ what this all means. She fails, she’s out. Probably. And she’s terrified, because Regina just said this is her responsibility; this is, basically, her job.

What she discovers is that no one is flying out in that weather. Not even Donatella’s jet or Maya’s or Mr. Gold’s are available. So she breaks the terrible news to Regina and she’s pretty sure come Monday morning she’s dead. Or fired. Or both?

[SQ]

She is confined to her hotel room thanks to this damned hurricane, and her incompetent assistant could not find a solution.

Regina is aware that it’s unfair to place the blame entirely on Emma’s shoulders; however, she is angry, disappointed and afraid of calling Henry to tell him she will not be there to watch him.

She breathes out and removes her glasses, giving up on trying to read and edit the article in her hands. It’s no use delaying the inevitable.

“Hello, sweetheart,” is what she says on the phone when he answers it.

“ _Hi Mom!_ ”

“Is everything alright there? You’re not giving your nanny too much trouble, right?”

“ _Everything’s okay, mom. Of course not. I’ve been rehearsing for tomorrow’s poetry reading, you know.”_

“Henry, look—”

“ _I can’t wait for tomorrow! And I can’t believe I managed to hide my poem from you!_ ” he laughs.

Her heart breaks just a little, because it has been so long since he’s sounded _this_ excited over anything from school — he has few friends, because of his intelligent and creative mind. And now she will not be there to support him. She sighs and interrupts her talkative son. “Henry! Calm down. I have to talk to you…”

“ _Oh no. I know that voice.”_ He groans. “ _Mom._ ”

He’s so perceptive, her little prince. She wonders if he got that from her or Daniel. Probably both. “I’m so sorry, Henry. There was a problem with my flight, so I can’t fly out of here today.” She leaves out the ‘hurricane’ part. No need to worry him.

“ _Oh. Where are you? I thought you were still at the office or something.”_

“Miami.” She bites her lip. “I’ll bring you something from here, how does that sound?”

“ _Nah, I’m good…”_ he sounds sad now. Regina would do anything to be on his side.

“I can ask for Robin to go either way and record it?”

“ _Okay…”_ His responses to her questions are short and clipped.

She tries to think of anything that could make him feel slightly better, for she cannot bear to hear him like this. “Would you read it to me?” she whispers.

There’s a shift of papers on the other side of the line before he says, “ _Here it is! Yes! You can help me with my reciting!”_

She smiles fondly. That’s her boy. “Of course, Henry. Whenever you’re ready.”

He clears his throat and begins.

By the time they say their goodbyes, Regina is sobbing: proud and so, so _enraged_ that she will not be there to watch her son say his beautiful words — his vocabulary is so advanced for his age; the editor in her wants to change a few things to better accommodate the metric, but the mother in her cannot help but cry, for the poem is clearly inspired by her and written _for her_.

Regina does not think she deserves it.

[SQ]

Monday morning arrives with no small sense of dread. Emma gets Regina’s coffee order and breakfast and is disappointed that it doesn’t take long to complete it. Apparently, the universe must be ready with popcorn to watch her be murdered by Regina’s Prada heels or something equally horrifying like that.

She places both the coffee and breakfast tray on Regina’s table, setting it beside the magazines and newspapers Regina peruses in the morning. Once everything’s neat, she sits at her desk and avoids Lena’s inquisitive eyes — she knows she must look like a crazy person, fiddling constantly with her ponytail and glasses.

But there’s a reason for it, she thinks as she arranges the papers on her desk and opens Regina’s schedule for the day on her computer. Regina sounded really upset over the phone the other day. Her son must be really important to her, and—

_Oh my god, she’s here._

Regina struts in with a red fur coat and a white Prada handbag both of which she throws unceremoniously on top of Emma’s desk, before Emma can squeak out a barely audible “Good morning, Regina!”

Just as she’s done with hanging the coat, she hears, loud and clear, “Lena.”

Emma glances at Lena and she’s pointing to Regina’s office, not picking up the tension or simply not caring. Emma’s feet start walking in that direction and she’s just glad she hasn’t fallen yet in the only pair of heels she has. It was a ‘present’ from Jefferson after he saw her ‘horrible and scuffed’ Dr. Martens and said, “Humor me, Emma. You don’t want to wear better clothes, fine, but if you really want to wear those boots, at least make sure they are new.” She hasn’t received her first paycheck yet, there’s no way she can afford new shoes at the moment.

Oh, great. This is going to be fantastic. Regina is not behind her desk, no — she’s perched in front of the desk in a sinfully tight black dress that reaches just above her knees, paired with black Louboutin’s (even Emma can discern those from other types of shoes) and a gold chain around her neck. Her makeup is rather dark today, as well. And, worst of all, if looks could kill…

“Henry’s poetry reading was absolutely inspiring. A work of his own. Everyone loved it, of course...” Emma is distinctly aware of where this is going and can’t do anything besides wait for the unavoidable. “…except me. I had to hear his poem over the phone the day before his recital, sadly, because I was not there.”

Emma fiddles with her hands, her expression both sad and contrite, despite knowing there’s nothing else she could have done. “I’m so sorry, Regina.”

“I don’t need apologies. I needed my flight back home and you did not do _your job._ ” Regina doesn’t raise her tone of voice, keeping it on that arrogant and balmy line. “Do you know why I hired you?”

This is a trick question, most likely a rhetorical one. Therefore, she stays silent, and braces herself for the devastating blow that’s sure to come.

“I always hire the same kind of girl. Skinny, stylish… Worships the magazine. I looked at you with all those clothes,” Regina gestures to Emma’s outfit of the day, “and just knew you were not any of those things. However, your impressive résumé and so-called work-ethic told me you were… different.” She sighs, moves away from her desk, invading Emma’s personal space. “I told myself, ‘Take a risk. Hire the candidate who has nothing to do with the magazine, perhaps she’ll succeed. Differently from the other three who lasted only a day.’ Apparently, I made the wrong choice.” She examines Emma from head to toe, and if her gaze falls on Emma’s trembling lips for a few seconds, Emma will later think she must have imagined it, especially since she’s doing everything in her power not to cry. She’s screwed it up, and it’s only her second month on the job.

“I had hope,” Regina tuts. She goes back to her chair, and Emma nearly exhales with relief — with the woman so close, Emma had almost fallen in a heap, right there on the perfectly polished marble floor. Just as Regina is sitting down, she smirks, “But you ended up disappointing me…”

Emma opens her mouth, but no sound comes out at first — there’s a huge lump in her throat, she can’t figure out what to say. To her horror, she realizes her eyes are tearing up, and thinks to herself, _don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry Emma!_ She’s never felt so much repressed anger and disappointment being directed at her like this before. There’s this… whatever-it-is about Regina that makes her memory fuzzy and treacherous, so much so that Emma forgets all the grief Regina has ever given her and instead feels like she’s been kicking puppies or kitties during her lunchtime.

Emma fiddles with her glasses to buy herself some time. When she does find her voice, it is small and tremulous. She doesn’t apologize again, knowing how that turned out the first time. “I-I tried everything I could think of—”

“Have I asked for something truly unreasonable?” Regina interjects. Um… yes, she has? “I think not. That’s all,” she concludes, shaking her head and waving her hands dismissively. She regards Emma with an unreadable expression on her face, until Emma can’t stand it anymore and has to leave to try and pull herself together.

[SQ]

When Emma hurried out of the office, she didn’t dare glance at Lena’s desk, because she can’t stand to see another person let down — with the door open, it was certain that Lena had heard the conversation occurred inside Regina’s office.

“Bloody hell, where do you think you’re going?” Lena hissed, pivoting on her chair to stare at Emma as she almost ran through the exit of the corner office.

“Shut up Lena,” Emma answered and winced right after. No time for apologies, though, not with a runny nose and hair already askew from her ponytail thanks to her uncanny need to fidget whenever she’s faced with troublesome situations.

She’s now ended up outside the Art Department, where she sees Jefferson working. She’s dragging her feet through the hallways, trying to muster up the courage to return to her desk. Is she fired? She doesn’t even know if she’s fired!

Pushing open the glass door she enters Jefferson’s turf. Emma’s been here a thousand times before, running errands for Regina, but never stopped to actually take in the papers affixed to the walls. The photos of gorgeous models and _Runway_ covers and different layouts would be a mess anywhere besides here. There’s a big touchscreen that displays the thirty day monthly planner for Runway’s layout, full of various pieces to compose the magazine — it’s amazing. If she had more time, she’d stop to analyze everything. Unfortunately, that’s not the case — she’s in the middle of a breakdown.

Jefferson glances up from his work and almost returns to it — until he sees she’s a mess, so he frowns. “What the hell happened to you, ugly duckling,” he inquires. Jefferson’s dubbed her that after he realized what her last name was. “You still have a long way to go before becoming a swan, Emma,” he’d proclaimed. She rolls her eyes inwardly. What a funny joke.

“She hates me.”

With a sardonic smile, immediately aware of whom she’s complaining about, he says, “Sweetheart, that’s hardly news. Regina doesn’t particularly _like_ anyone here.” Emma watches as he sets aside the magnifying glass he was using to examine a couple of Polaroids from the Dior campaign. “Which brings me to an important question…”

Emma removes her glasses and places them on the LED light table full of drawing materials, magazines and pens. Lots of pens… She shakes her head to rearrange her thoughts. “What?” she asks while roughly brushing away her tears. She hates crying, especially in front of people.

“That’s my problem because…?” Jefferson’s eyebrow quirks. Emma glares half-heartedly at him. “Oh right, it isn’t.”

“I’m just... Ugh.” She groans and covers her face with her hands before attempting to fix her ponytail. “It’s so infuriating! I do something right, she doesn’t acknowledge it…” She grips the table in front of her. “But if I do something wrong, then I’m basically dead.”

“Well, so quit.” Jefferson supplies so matter-of-factly she takes a few seconds to answer.

“Wait, what?”

“Quit.”

“Quit? Why would I do that?”

Jefferson looks at her like she should know the answer to her own question. “I can get another girl to fill your position in the blink of an eye. One who really wants this job.”

“Hey!” She steps away from the table, taking a deep breath. “That’s not fair. I want this. I just want… a little credit for the fact that I’m killing myself trying.”

“Let’s be honest here. You’re not trying.” He gathers the Polaroids and puts them away behind him in the drawing table. “You’re complaining.” He shrugs.

“No, I’m not…” her voice sounds unconvincing even to her. “Maybe a bit?” she grimaces.

“It’s time for some advice, honey. Listen up.” Jefferson says, steepling his fingers on top of the table. “She’s not here to feel sympathy for an assistant. Your workload can be considered _light_ in comparison to what Regina does. She carries the flagship of _Runway_ on her back every day and she never _once_ complains. That isn’t to say _you_ should feel sympathy for her instead. She won’t thank you and you won’t thank her either...” he fiddles with his Louis Vuitton scarf and tilts his head, regarding her with contempt. “There’s no time for it. This is a demanding job, but you ought to have known that when you signed up for it.”

Emma listens carefully as Jefferson tells her the harsh truths about her job, which she was avoiding up until this point. “So I should just… what? Pretend it doesn’t bother me?” she finally asks.

He shakes his head. “You must take this job seriously, something you’re not doing. You shouldn’t even think about belittling Regina’s job, you know why?” he pauses, waiting to have her full attention. “Do you have any idea how hard that woman has battled to be where she is today? When she started, there was no support. They expected her to fall. Seven years later, she’s still running the ship. Is she ruthless? Of course she is. But if she backed down only once, there are hundreds of people lurking, eager to take her job.” He stops, holding out a copy of _Runway’s_ March issue to her.

Emma takes it and places it on the table. She glances down at it like it will somehow hold the answers to her afflictions.

“What we’re creating here is greater than art. Because we get to live our lives in it.” He pauses and stares at her for a few seconds. “Not you, obviously, but some people. You think her work, this magazine, is something whimsical or unimportant just because it’s about fashion? Here, look at this,” he points to the model on the magazine’s cover she’s holding. “You saw us working on that cover from the day you stepped inside this building. The final product is in your hands. Because of Regina’s taste and eye, the sales beat the other month’s already. She’s the arbiter of a four-hundred billion dollars a year industry. Billions. Every year.”

She almost chokes on her saliva. That’s… she can’t even grasp it.

“And that’s just the beginning, Emma. This is also a beacon of hope for many people… For example, um… let’s say… a little boy in Brooklyn, saving up a few dollars to buy a copy that he’ll read in secret, skipping soccer practice to go to sewing class…” he clears his throat, and Emma understands the meaning behind his words.

“Jefferson…” she touches the hand he has on top of the magazine with hers.

He removes it and gestures wildly around, clearly agitated. “You have _no idea_ how many legends have walked these halls! The greatest artists of the century. Lagerfeld, Halston, de La Renta— to name a few. What’s worse is that you don’t care— this place— this magazine where so many people would die to work, you only deign to work. And then you wonder why she doesn’t congratulate you and kiss your forehead at the end of the day,” he says, done with his speech.

Emma stares at him in surprise — who knew he would be so passionate? She can’t even refute any of it, because Jefferson’s right. Emma’s been saying she’s getting better on her job, when she should know that staying late in hopes of impressing Regina won’t mean a thing with the way she’s been going at this. It won’t make up for the fact that she tells herself every night _I take myself too seriously to care about what I put on my back._ She hasn’t embraced her job or her opportunities. Not when she gets up every morning and puts on the first thing she sees in her closet, for starters.

Taking the magazine and hugging it to her chest, Emma takes a deep breath and comes to a decision on the spot. “Can you do me a favor?”

He smirks. “I thought you’d never ask. I’ve been waiting for this since day one, ugly duckling. It’s time to transform you into a true Swan.”

She rolls her eyes, but feels excitement bubbling up to the surface.

They take the elevator to the Closet, as Jefferson calls it, which occupies nearly an entire floor and deserves the capital letter. It’s huge, full of sample sizes of designer clothes and accessories from new collections, as well as past and still-to-occur photoshoots.

Jefferson goes through aisle after aisle with a calculating glint in his eyes. It’s the look of someone who knows exactly where everything is (that’s not possible, Emma reasons, because people must move stuff all the time!) and tosses her an article of clothing on the way.

She can barely keep up as he rattles off a bunch of designer’s names. “Here’s some Dolce dresses…Shoes! We need shoes. Take these Jimmy Choo’s. Manolo Blahnik…” he moves to the next shelf. “Um, let me see… Nancy Gonzalez. _Love_ that bag...” he groans. “You are in desperate need of Narciso Rodriguez. Yes, this coat will do quite nicely with the black dress...” he mumbles to himself, and Emma is blithely aware that she’s in good hands. Jefferson is evidently in his element here. “Chanel. We cannot forget Chanel. Follow me.”

Leading her to one of the fitting rooms somewhere in the aisle maze, he orders Emma to get rid of the ‘ridiculous outfit’ she’s wearing, taking some of the items from her arms and leaving her with a new wardrobe choice that ‘will make her cost a million bucks’.

“Once you’re done here, we’ve got to go to the Beauty Department and take care of that mane you call a hair.”

[SQ]

“Lena,” she calls.

Regina hears the tell-tale sign of Lena’s approach. Her pace is always hurried and the heels… that _restlessness_ is nauseating, quite honestly.

“Yes, Regina.” Her first assistant’s sentence ends with an interrogative inflection.

“Take this away,” she gestures to the breakfast tray with her head while marking an _X_ on one of the pictures in front of her. Dreadful. She looks up when Lena takes the tray. “Schedule an editorial meeting for 8:15 in the conference room. If any of them are missing by the time I get there…” she smirks and gathers that Lena will understand the meaning behind her words. In all probability, most of them will be late. Her impromptu decisions make them nervous — no time to prepare in thirty minutes.

Regina is feeling particularly diabolical today. Under the guise of instructing those fools and shooting down bad ideas, lies the chance to relieve some tension.

“Will do.” Lena answers, nodding and already waiting for more instructions.

She sighs. “Get me more coffee. And aspirin,” she says as an afterthought. Regina can feel a headache setting in already.  “Incompetence should not exist this early.”

Not only had she missed Henry’s recital on Saturday, she arrived home from Miami on _Sunday_ and had not been able to talk to Henry that much. She hopes her little prince can find it in his heart to forgive her. Her mood further deteriorated today when she noticed Emma and that constant fidgeting of hers first thing in the morning.

Truth be told, it wasn’t Emma’s fault. Regina may have been slightly unfair in her handling of the situation. But she hated the sense of powerlessness — she’s Regina Mills, for god’s sake. Since when did flights become unavailable to her? Hurricanes notwithstanding.

After a pathetic excuse for a meeting, _why is no one ready?,_ she has the _wonderful_ sensation of everything going downhill from there. Emma hasn’t returned by the time nine o’clock rolls around. Has she gone too far? A few sharp words and the woman is running away? She twirls her favorite pen between her fingers and makes up her mind on the topic at hand, because she is feeling benevolent all of a sudden. If tomorrow Emma does not show up, she’s fired.

Regina writes down neatly on a post-it: **_Replace the lace._** And smacks it on top of one of the sketches she was reviewing.

She flicks the page on the portfolio and inspects the next drawing. Her pen is flying across the paper before she can finish her thought properly. **_Costume jewelry._ **

The next one, **_Change the color. Saffron is so overused._ **

And then, **_No, no. The neckline is too low._ **

**_I need a jacket here._ **

**_What is this._ ** She slams it too forcefully on the next dress sketch.

**_Even a two-year-old would know this is a terrible cho-_ **

She removes the pen from the post-it and refrains from rubbing her eyes in disbelief. Never before has she been this aggressive in her notes for Merlin Knight’s designs. She bunches up all the little papers and throws them in the trash can beneath her desk. It doesn’t make any noise when they fall inside, and she has the sudden urge to kick it just to produce some sort of… sound?

Regina pinches the bridge of her nose and scoffs at herself mentally. What is she doing?

Putting a lock of straightened hair behind her ear, she counts to ten under her breath. She then schools her features into the emotionless mask she has carefully perfected and that her employees have come to expect. Lastly, Regina calls for Lena once more.

“Yes?”

“Two o’clock we’ll be leaving for the photoshoot. Be ready. Where are the Demarchelier’s Polaroids from 15 to 25C? I want them before I leave for my appointment.”

“Right away, Regina,” says Lena.

“And tell _Lena_ , when you find her, that if she’s not back by tomorrow morning she’s fired.”

“I can call—”

She shakes her head. “That’s all.”

Her appointment is with her masseuse. Let it be hoped Helen can remove some of what’s _clearly_ tension from her shoulders. She closes the portfolio and sighs. This is a trying day to say the least.

[SQ]

As the chair is turned, Emma can’t believe she’s staring at _herself_ in the mirror — it certainly doesn’t seem like her. Well, her blonde hair is there. Her green eyes and pale skin too, but… she has been given a thorough makeover, from her style to her appearance.

Jefferson had someone bag an entire month’s worth of clothes for her before they left the Closet. Emma has already promised him she will do some research on each brand and learn to differentiate between them. So many!

“No, no, no. Those glasses you’re wearing won’t do,” he’d said at one point, his hand on his chin. “If you really must wear glasses, take these.” He handed her sturdy and fancy frames, not unlike her old, black-rimmed ones, but Dolce & Gabbana instead. “Do trade yours for those as soon as possible. For parties, though, they are a no-no,” he warned.

Sporting a black turtleneck sweater from Miu Miu, Valentino slacks, and three-inch Louboutin’s, Emma was dragged to the Beauty Department. There, they washed her hair (she almost fell asleep — it felt _so good_ ) and then she was seated with her back to a mirror. Her hair was fussed over by so many people who, and she quotes, “loved the vibrant, golden color of her hair; however, this is a mess, dear”. The professionals cut and blow dried and styled her hair, but didn’t let her see the final product because “the makeup is next”!

And now she stares at herself with her mouth open. Is that really _Emma Swan?_

“Close your mouth, honey. You’ll catch flies.” Jefferson comments from his place beside her after he’d shooed away the stylists.

“Am I— do I… look okay?” she asks self-consciously.

“I told you I would transform you into a Swan, didn’t I?” he quips, and Emma laughs. “Now take this coat and let’s go,” he throws her a Chanel red trench coat, so soft and beautiful she could cry. “You’ve got work to do,” he says, already exiting the department without her.

With one last look to the mirror, she imperceptibly nods at her reflection and mutters, “I could get used to this.”

[SQ]

“I mean, I have no idea why Regina hired her.”

Emma is certain that’s Lena’s callous voice; if anything, the accent gives it away.

Lena’s conversation is echoing around the hallway. Not even Emma’s heels are as loud as they clack on the floor to the outer office. She wonders, briefly, if Lena cares she’s essentially gossiping about Emma for everyone to hear. But then, Emma sighs and shakes her head, Lena is not one for subtlety. Never was, never will be. None of the people who work here are — they don’t like you, they’ll let you know, one way or another.

Emma’s steps slow down as she waits to hear the response.

Silence meets her for a few seconds, though, so either the other person speaks in lower volumes than Regina when she’s being scary or…Lena is on the phone, which seems more plausible.

A bark of laughter resounds before Lena says, “I knew from the moment I saw her that she was a complete and utter disas…” she trails off because Emma’s had enough and finally appears, pushing open the glass door. It shouldn’t be this satisfying to render Lena speechless. She _mumbles_ on the line. “Disaster… I’ll… talk to you later.”

Emma recognizes she must look totally different from the I-don’t-care-about-fashion attitude she had before. She looks grown-up in her gorgeous clothes, impeccable make-up and soft, loose, pretty hair. She feels powerful. She feels beautiful. Who knew a makeover had that power? Who knew that’s what she needed?

It takes her a few hours to get used to the heels. (That is, on the premises. Running errands will turn out to be a real can of worms, she imagines.)

On the other hand, it takes her only few minutes to realize Regina won’t be coming back to the office today, and she wonders why she feels upset by that.

Lena’s utter astonishment improves her mood, though. She’s smug for the rest of the day. When Neal sees her in this, he won’t believe it either, Emma is certain.

[SQ]

"Have a good day, Ms. Mills."

Sidney is the only person to call her that. No matter how many times she corrected him in the first year he started working as her driver, he insisted on it. And she let him, partially because he's been putting up with her... fine, _idiosyncrasies_ for over three years now, and partially because he never uses the 'Mrs.', which she can't stand. She can't stand it for one simple reason: it tells her she is _married_.

And now is not the time to dwell on it, she admonishes inwardly, grinding her teeth.

Regina pushes the button for her not-yet-private elevator and concludes there are more pressing matters to worry about. For example, there’s the fact that she'll most likely be asking Lena to call HR to get a replacement for Emma today, despite hoping otherwise.

She cannot pinpoint why she is worried about it. Why does she care?

Regina admits that, while Emma's lack of respect and knowledge about anything to do with fashion is decidedly disconcerting, she is (was?) shaping up to be a damn good assistant. Much smarter than Lena, that is irrefutable.

She waits for the 18th floor's doors to open with a heavy heart, and cannot understand the dread in the pit of her stomach, the waves of regret that are usually reserved only for where Henry's concerned.

After stepping off the elevator, as she’s striding past reception her cellphone rings. Thankfully not one of those dumb celebrities and their party invites; instead, it’s Valentino.

She flips open her Motorola and greets him with, _"Buongiorno!_ My dear, it is good to hear from you.” Valentino is one of the few she can stand. His designs usually do not disappoint her.

“Yes, yes, I saw the first sketch.” Glad for the reprieve on her wayward emotions, she places her coat and bag on top of the second assistant desk by mistake. “Mhmm, yes, the gowns are fabulous. We’re going to use the burgundy…”

There is a stranger in her office. Light skin. Honey blonde hair, _glowing_ with the sun contrasting behind her from the window. A fashionable woman, dressed in formal, designer clothes, arranging the periodicals on her desk with precision.

She reminds herself to answer Valentino, “Yes, yes, we’ll see each other in a few months—” But as the person behind her desk raises her head and smiles almost shyly, and as Regina’s brown eyes meet sparkling greens, she stops talking for a few seconds, caught off guard. And it’s so uncharacteristic she almost pinches herself. Clearing her throat as silently as possible, she brushes past Emma just as she is working around her to her own desk.

That’s… Emma. Of course it is Emma, who else would be organizing her office? Regina stops herself before she looks over her shoulder to examine more in depth. But it doesn’t look like Emma at all. Her hair, no longer lifeless and stiff, nor held by an elastic band in a loose ponytail, now flows down her back in soft curls. She is even wearing heels confidently. There’s a… _radiance_ that was not there yesterday.

 _Where are these adjectives coming from?_ Regina thinks with pursed lips. She sits down with slow, deliberate movements and barely registers anything else the designer is saying, providing the occasional hum when appropriate. She startles from her musings when he finally says, “ _Ciao ciao, amore mio!_ ”

She answers in similar fashion and ends the call, still stunned, because— _Emma._ Emma wearing a cream Chanel coat and dark pants and a blouse that matches her emerald eyes and even Dolce  & Gabbana glasses! She’s completely transformed, and…

Why is she rambling? Her thoughts don’t ramble. Rambling gets on her nerves.

 _What was that?,_ she nearly mutters out loud.

Feeling disgruntled, Regina decides to pretend she has not noticed anything different, because this _makeover_ does not mean Emma has proven herself. Absolutely not.

[SQ]

In hindsight, as a few weeks pass, Emma understands why her attitude wasn’t going to get her anywhere — she has a lot to learn and, if she's to be technical, was supposed to know all of this already. It should have come with the job description, really.

There are perks that come from having lasted nearly two months on the job now, something that none of the previous second assistants after Lena had accomplished.

What’s so odd is that these presents drop out of nowhere, or are delivered from Lena or Jefferson.

“Here, take this. Reg— _I_ cannot handle you glued to that tiny screen because you can’t make sense of the words. Not to mention the keyboard.” Lena walks to Emma’s side of the office and places the new mandatory cellphone on top of some articles she was organizing in alphabetical order for Regina. And oh my god it’s the T-Mobile Sidekick 2, she’s been dying for one of these! “Do copy Regina’s calendar to the planner, and synchronize your number. Actually, I don’t care what you do with it, as long as you answer Regina’s calls and texts.”

The presents are never from Regina, and yet, her name slips several times during the deliveries.

“Wear this tomorrow. Regina… has nothing to do with it; I don’t know why I said that.” Jefferson coughs and hands her a grey beanie. “Wear it. Ciao!”

Emma rolls her eyes just remembering it, and focuses on the movie she was supposed to be watching. So much for relaxing and forgetting about work like Neal had suggested.

She’s munching on some popcorn when the shrill noise from her phone alerts her to an incoming call. _Please let it be my parents, please let it be my parents, pl— who am I kidding._

“You _really_ gonna stop our Star Wars marathon to answer that?” Neal asks.

“Yeah? Sorry, but this could be important…” She sucks her teeth and eyes Regina’s name in the screen with anticipation. For what, she doesn’t know. “Go on without me, it’s fine…” she tells him. Getting up from the couch in a swift move, she answers the phone, quickly dashing to their bedroom for some peace and quiet.

“ _Where are the notes from Friday’s run-through?”_ demands Regina in lieu of a greeting.

She rubs the back of her neck. “I’m pretty sure I sent you an email with it…”

“‘ _Pretty sure’ will not get me anywhere,_ I’m _pretty sure,”_ Regina sasses back.

Emma resists collapsing on her bed and screaming into her pillow. This woman will be the death of her. So damn infuriating. “The email is named ‘Run-through — March 24th’”

The sound of Regina’s forceful clicking of the mouse is what she hears for the next minute or so, until Regina huffs. “ _Not so incompetent after all. Here it is. See you on Monday._ ”

“S-see you…” she stutters, caught off guard, and the line clicks.

A farewell from Regina? That’s new. She smiles — the tides are turning.

She throws herself back on the couch and Neal presses pause on the movie, turning to her. “It’s Saturday,” he says, frowning. “She asks for you on the weekend?”

“Small stuff,” Emma replies. “Sometimes that’s picking up a few things, other times it’s contacting someone from another department, or booking a reservation somewhere… Nothing big.” She shrugs.

“Still, Em. It’s the weekend.”

“It’s really not that bad,” she insists, playing with his fingers. “She’s a decent person most of the time, I guess.”

“Aww, you have a soft spot for the Evil Queen?”

She puts his hand down. “The Evil Queen?” she repeats.

“Regina. The Evil Queen?” She gives him a blank stare. “You never heard of that nickname they have for her?”

“Nickname?”

His eyes twinkle in amusement. “You really didn’t know!”

She pushes him half-heartedly, pretending to be annoyed by his teasing. “Know what?”

“That’s what Page Six calls her. And probably her co-workers. Everyone says she’s a nightmare.”

“Huh. Well, you know I don’t like the gossip columns.”

Neal nods in acquiescence. “Come here…” He pulls her to his chest and kisses the top of her head. “Enough about her. Let’s watch the rest of this. So, what you missed was …”

(She may have tuned him out a bit while she internally decided she would do research about this as soon as possible.)

On Tuesday, after a surprisingly short day at work, Emma is sitting on the couch, a _New York Post_ newspaper on her lap, closed. She’s yet to find the courage to open it to the infamous Page Six, where the gossip columns live. Why, though? Why this… hesitation?

Jefferson’s rhetorical question of _‘Do you have any idea how hard that woman has battled to be where she is today?’_ comes to mind for some reason. The answer is no. She still doesn’t know anything besides that Regina is powerful, demanding, stylish, really beautiful, wears her hair in different ways depending on her mood, enjoys her coffee searing hot, has a son called Henry, a husband called Robin.

And, of course, there’s the damn moniker she can’t stop mulling over.

She opens the newspaper at last, flipping to the gossip column. Just as she’d imagined, there’s **_Mr. Mills spotted alone… again_ ** below the ‘Sightings’ header and it paints Regina as a terrible person for missing dinner yesterday evening. It’s ridiculous: Emma _knows_ Regina stayed until late revising the ‘30’s Fashion’ story that had an insane amount of grammatical errors.

Is the Copy Editing Department broken, by any chance? (Wow. That sounded a lot like Regina in her head. She winces.)

She throws the newspaper to the floor, not caring that the pages scatter around. This is why she avoids gossip columns — more often than not, they are liars. The kind of journalism she hates, and hopes never to write.

Okay, so Page Six won’t answer her questions. She grabs her MacBook (she can’t believe it — this might be the best gift of all) perches it on her lap and Google’s logo glares back at her for a few seconds before she’s typing the Queen of Fashion’s name on the search box. **_Regina Mills_** , she finishes and presses enter.

There are hundreds of results, unsurprisingly, but the one she clicks is the Wikipedia article.

 

_Regina Victoria Mills (born February 1st, 1974) is an American journalist and editor. She has been editor-in-chief of Runway since 1999. With her trademark short dark hair styled in different ways throughout the years and different sunglasses every day, Mills has become an important figure in international fashion, widely praised for her eye for fashion styles and trends, as well as her support for modern, younger designers. Her reportedly aloof and demanding personality, however, has earned her the nickname of ‘Evil Queen’._

 

"Regina was twenty-five when she started?!" exclaims Emma to the empty apartment — Neal is working a shift at the restaurant and won't be home for another hour.

She reads on, the whole thing, from Regina's start in the publishing world as an intern to _Food & Wine Magazine_, (which, Emma finds out, was directed by Regina's mother, Cora Mills, for twenty years before she passed away) to Regina's climb in the professional ladder to a job worth billions of dollars. All done in less than ten years.

Emma spends the whole night researching — she writes a summary of colors, of materials, of brands, of designers. Now she only has to update her roster and actually _learn_ this information. Back to studying, it seems.

[SQ]

 **_A Roster by Emma Swan_ ** _(Updated March 27_ _th_ _)_

  * **_Regina Mills_** _–_ _Editor-in-chief_
  * **_Jefferson Hatter_** _–_ _Art Director_
  * **_Lena Green_** _– First Assistant_
  * **_Robert Gold_** _– Chairman of Elias-Clarke (creepy guy)_
  * **_Demarchelier_** _– Photographer_
  * **_James_** _–_ _Photography Department (never seen him in my life but I know he exists)_
  * **_Kathryn_** _–_ _Accessories Department_
  * **_Greg_** _– Pattern Department_
  * **_Ursula_** _– Style & Trends Department_
  * **_Ingrid_** _– Casting Department_
  * _**Ashley**_ _\- Beauty Department_
  * **_Belle_** _– Beauty Department (no pun intended)_



[SQ]

It’s Sunday and Regina can hardly believe her evening is free to some extent. Emma’s attention to detail in the run-throughs means it is rare now for Regina to have to inquire about something that was settled or that she fixed pertaining to outfits or articles, depending on which type of run-through they’d done. The first time Regina read her notes after a run-through (after demanding they typed; that chicken-scratch handwriting is impossible to read) it became evident that Emma has talent — her writing is concise, and she is able to summarize thoroughly what Regina needs.

Regina is sitting at the dining room, one of her least favorite places of late. The interactions there are stilted, matching the tasteful yet formal decoration of the interior. Robin is on her left and Henry on her right at the round mahogany table.

The sound of their cutlery clinking against expensive dishes is aggravatingly loud and pronounced when their silence starts to suffocate. Regina clears her throat softly. “I’m glad we had the time to do this.” She smiles, but it wavers.

“Yeah,” Henry mumbles to his plate, at the same time as Robin nods on the other side of the table. Henry’s been subdued for weeks. Since it’s the end of the month, work is being awfully demanding.

It’s been a long time since the three of them have had dinner together. And she knows it’s primarily her fault. However, with the way things have been recently with the board, she also knows the latest disputes with Mr. Gold will greatly increase the likelihood of a strike from the Elias-Clarke board members.

They don’t address her miserable attempt at small talk.

Lying in bed with Robin a few hours later, Regina pretends she isn’t the cold-hearted “Evil Queen” or “Regina Mills, the editor-in-chief of _Runway”._ Sighing dejectedly as Robin rolls over and covers her with his arm across her midsection, she closes her eyes and paints the blissful picture of _Regina Victoria Mills_ , a woman with no significant burden on her shoulders, no disappointments to her son, and no fights with a husband that she was never in love with in the first place. She has a happy ending, this woman. She smiles and laughs joyfully; never a dull moment besides her loved one and her little prince. So in contrast with the Regina that lets a single tear fall unbidden to the pillow, mourning her losses and foregone opportunities, even after six years…

She comes to her senses when Robin mumbles incoherently at the nape of her neck. _You foolish girl_ , Mother’s voice still haunts her today, _love is weakness._


	3. april 2006

As Emma crosses out April 2nd from her calendar before going to bed, she can’t believe she’s lasting at the job ‘a million girls would kill for’. Tomorrow Regina will certainly have an editorial meeting for the next issue. Emma makes a note to be ready to run to Starbucks just before the meeting ends — Regina’s usually in a foul mood after this type of run-through, because the editors come up with uninspiring ideas for their spreads and she ends up doing most of the work.

She falls into bed beside a snoring Neal at midnight, still quite energetic. While waiting for sleep to claim her, she thinks, _Another month starts._ Huh. In three months, she’s been transformed from Emma Swan: aspiring journalist, to Emma Swan: still an aspiring journalist and assistant to Regina Mills. Who would’ve thought?

Call her silly, but since she got the job on a Monday, and now has access to these insanely beautiful clothes, she meticulously prepares what outfit she’ll wear every day of work. She enjoys impressing people with her selections. Never before has she turned so many heads.

The other day, she was behind on her schedule and needed to get Regina’s breakfast order with that blistering hot coffee accompanying it. The barista at Starbucks simply waved her aside and gave her the order.

“We don’t usually do this, but… we know how Ms. Mills can be. You can always call ahead and we’ll have her order ready when you arrive,” the kind man behind the counter had said. And before she could open her mouth to reply, he’d added, “Yes, everything will stay warm, don’t worry.”

Bless him.

Jefferson offers his assistance when necessary, but Emma likes feeling that she’s ultimately _doing something right_. She picks outfits with the intention of gaining his approval. A small voice inside her head points out that’s not the person whose opinion she will value the most. She pushes it away immediately.

On Monday, she steps out of her apartment with time to spare. In one hand she confidently swings her Calvin Klein bag, in the other she checks her phone for any requests from Regina. There are several e-mails to answer or to forward already, of course. Emma leaves the Lower East Side with a spring in her step, though. The black thigh-high boots Jefferson handed her last week give her a sense of power she’s not accustomed to. “Nothing says ‘Get out of my way’ more than a brand new pair of Chanel boots,” according to him.

As she takes a seat in the packed subway, Emma spares a moment to recall her interview day shaking her head at the recollection. She made a fool of herself that day, and still somehow managed to secure the position with a world-renowned expert on fashion.

She constructs the images of that Emma, recently graduated and naïve, and the confident secretary she’s becoming now. In her mind, the latter looks at the former with no small amount of distaste. She hadn’t cared to learn anything before applying for the position. Her dad would be disappointed if he’d seen the way she broke all the rules on how to behave oneself at a job interview. _Seriously, Emma?_

The lobby doesn’t overwhelm her anymore. Despite people rushing in every direction, she’s learnt to embrace the whirlwind. She’s part of it — she’s one of the chic workers, she _fits_. She isn’t the odd one out anymore.

Removing her I.D. card from her purse, she fingers it thoughtfully, planning for the day ahead as she approaches the elevators. There’s the Hermès scarf order to pick up, and the texture samples from the Styles and Trends Department… Oh, wait for Armani’s call and draft a short speech for the event Regina will attend tomorrow. How much time until Regina’s in? Roughly 45 minutes, give or take. Sidney is going to text Lena, either way…

The light turns green as she slides the thin plastic through the turnstile, and she pushes through, brisk pace and heels clacking against the marble floor, ignoring the to-do-list for the moment. Her phone vibrates and she fishes in her purse for it. Slightly distracted, she works around people to the elevator, and misses the incredulous looks some of them give her, the wide eyes and slack mouths as she says, “Hold it!” while grasping triumphantly her phone.

Whoever is inside is not ‘holding it’, so she slips through the crack just in time, exhaling in relief. She apologizes to the person beside her in the elevator, not casting a glance towards them as she reads the text, answers it and places the phone back inside the purse.

 **Lena:** Regina’s arriving early.

 **Lena:** WHERE ARE YOU

 **Emma:** Elevator!

She moves forward to tap at the 18th floor button, but finds it pressed. A wave of cold dread washes through her as she suddenly grasps what it might mean. With trembling hands, she clutches her bag tightly to her chest and prays to be wrong. _It can’t be._ The foot tapping behind her and the feeling of holes being carved into her shoulder blades by a withering glare suggest otherwise. Stepping back to her previous space next to the other person in the elevator confirms her fears. Emma sniffs the air as discreetly as possible and the sweet and unmistakable fragrance enters her nostrils… _Oh no._

She casts a glance towards…yep, it’s Regina, _oh my god_. Sunglasses and all. Is Emma really inside? She’s… inside the elevator. With Regina. Emma almost takes out her book journal; just to be sure she hasn’t misremembered that rule.

 

**_Regina’s Unspoken Rules_ **

  1. ****_Don’t ask Regina anything (she won’t care)._
  2. ****_Regina’s coffee has to be scalding hot._
  3. ****_Pellegrino water, red apple and periodicals on her desk when she arrives._
  4. ****_Don’t let calls go to voicemail._
  5. ****_The phone has to be answered every time._
  6. ****_Never interrupt Regina in meetings — Henry’s the only exception._
  7. ****_Anticipate her needs._
  8. ****_Don’t talk back (only if you want a scary smile in return)._
  9. ****_Chained to the desk when Lena is not there._
  10. ****_Never, ever, board the elevator with her._



 

The thing is… she has memorized that list. They’re rules Lena dropped on her lap whenever Emma screwed up, and Emma made sure to write them down. The last item. Damn her and her good memory. The one rule she never understood, even having heard from no less than four co-workers about it. Number 10.

Automatically, her hand goes up to scrape her hair back over her ears. Before she can open her mouth, though, Regina surprises her. “Have you confirmed the editorial meeting?” she asks in that smooth, pleasant tone of hers.

Not wanting to believe her luck, Emma stumbles through her answer, “Y-yes, everything’s confirmed for 2 pm. Coffee will arrive right after.”

Regina hums, but doesn’t comment further. “I have a conference call with Runway France at 7:15. That’s not on the itinerary. Let Lena know. Do not disturb me until 8.”

“Right,” Emma nods as the 18th floor doors open at once. Regina removes her sunglasses and, out of habit, Emma holds the doors for her. Those eyes meet hers and, for some reason, today she realizes that, with the boots, she towers over Regina. No matter, because her boss is still imposing and powerful even with the height difference.

They pass the receptionist side by side, who does a double-take seeing them together, but still says, “Good morning, Regina. Emma.”

Emma can’t contain her grin — her name and Regina’s so close together sounds good to her ears. She follows Regina through the first corridor, taking notes as her boss gives the first instructions for the day. She _knows_ this is not her part of the job. Lena is supposed to take the notes, while Emma mans the phone. Where’s Lena?

 _Think about her, and she’ll appear._ Lena sees them from the end of the corridor, mouth open in astonishment, which she closes quickly and moves in the direction of the office.

Emma’s sure that Lena will kill her later. Eh, no big deal. Regina’s perfume, amazing up close, makes up for it.

What… sort of thought was that...?

[SQ]

If Emma thought Regina’s uncharacteristic response in the elevator was weird, the strangest thing happens when they get inside Regina’s office.

Regina turns to her and doesn’t say anything for the longest minute. Then, just as Emma whirls around to leave, she calls, “Lena,” and Emma pivots back. “Don’t forget to—”

“Pick up the texture samples? Right on it.” Emma smiles.

Regina stares at her in silence for several seconds, challenging Emma to maintain eye contact. When Emma refuses to lower her gaze, Regina leans back against her desk, her brow knitting with a puzzled frown, studying her from her Chanel boots, up to the scarlet funnel coat and ending on her face. Emma’s smile drops, but still she meets Regina’s stare unflinchingly. The longer this goes on, the more the room temperature seems to rise. Incidentally, Emma feels her face flushing. The moment lasts forever.

Finally, blinking owlishly as though nothing out of the ordinary happened, Regina moves around to behind the desk and sits at her chair, breaking eye contact. “I’d like some coffee now.” Her tone is soft, like velvet to Emma’s ears. She looks pained, and Emma wishes to rectify that.

“Yes, Regina,” Emma says. Coffee was already the first item on her to-do-list.

“That’s all,” she dismisses, and Emma rushes out.

[SQ]

Why hadn’t she fired Emma on the spot? Regina has fired for less. Was the girl that much of an idiot, to not notice with whom she was boarding the elevator?

Regina sighs, keeping her eyes on the spread. She underlines a word that does not fit, putting a tab just by the word and writing a few suggestions of her own. She cannot shake off the feeling that Emma is special. Emma has that little… _something_ that none of the previous assistants had. She looked beautiful today…

Drinking from her still hot beverage, Regina ponders these random thoughts that pop up with no invitation whatsoever. There’s the eye contact game to consider as well. Nobody looks Regina in the eye or holds her gaze for that long. Everyone always scampers around her, and she enjoys it. Only Jefferson meets her eyes, but even he lowers them whenever Regina’s voice drops into a threatening tone; when she purses her lips in distaste; or when she clenches her jaw and proceeds to eviscerate an unknowing victim (metaphorically, of course). Even sarcastic, efficient Lena keeps her head down most of the time.

Emma is different. So attuned is she to Regina’s demands yet Regina never fails to be pleasantly surprised. No one has ever anticipated her needs like this. It is certainly inspiring, never knowing what to expect from a new interaction with her.

Maybe that is why Emma was not fired today.

[SQ]

On the elevator incident day, Emma finds out that, on top of the April issue, they start working on the September issue, which is five months away, she points out to Lena, but it doesn’t matter because _it is the most important and biggest issue_.

So she purchases several Moleskine book journals (extras are always welcome, her mother would say), and uses two sets: one for April’s meetings and notes, the other for September’s. If she’s going to look like a madwoman every time she swaps one notebook for the other, she’s going to be organized about it.

There are days where she wants to yell at every single one of them and pull her hair out in frustration. Regina disapproves a lot of things on a daily basis. Jefferson or Lena tell her to take it in stride — Regina knows what she’s doing. So the departments adapt and take their boss’ suggestions and demands as the truth.

It’s amazing to be part of it — that despite the craziness around her, the issue still neat and organized, because Emma has seen Regina spend weeks scheduling with the board of editors what they will work on next. So, although they are busier than usual with the doubled workload, everything is running smoothly.

One day, Jefferson invites her and Lena for drinks after work (“Nothing alcoholic, girls. We can’t afford a hangover tomorrow.”), at the bar in the corner of their street, and Emma greedily accepts it. There’s the initial awkwardness, of course, but as they start talking about anything and everything in between that doesn’t directly involve work, they banter like old friends. Lena even stops staring at her with that bored expression she makes sometimes. Or maybe most of the time. Emma thinks of it as progress.

At one point, after their appetizers arrived, Lena suddenly asks, “Hey. What in the bloody hell was that?”

“What are you talking about?” Emma tilts her head at Lena.

“The… That day, you were there with Regina. I was gobsmacked! How was that possible? Did you magic yourself next to her?” Emma finds that Lena’s British accent becomes more pronounced when she’s perplexed. And Lena’s sense of humor is quite funny, when she stops to consider it.

But when Emma finally registers her words, she clears her throat and fiddles with her sleeve.

“Ooo. I sense a good story. Spill.” Jefferson turns to her, propping his chin up on his hand.

“There’s nothing to tell, really…” Emma starts, trying to buy herself some time before inevitably embarrassing herself. “I may have boarded the elevator with her?” she says, pressing her mouth to her glass, hoping they won’t hear her.

“What did you just say?” Lena asks, and her expression tells Emma she’s hoping she has somehow misheard.

“You’re joking.” Jefferson sounds amused, no doubt already imagining how _that_ had turned out.

“No! Why would I joke about this?” Emma drinks all her water in one gulp, setting the glass with a resounding clack on their table. “I was distracted…was about to read your message when I got into the elevator,” she points to Lena, who’s listening attentively. “And when I realized…” Emma decides that _how_ she realized is not relevant. She clears her throat, remembering that sweet perfume so uniquely Regina. “When I realized who was inside with me it was too late.” Emma shrugs, trying not to make a big deal out of it. _Yeah, right. I break one of the unspoken rules and expect not to have a reaction._

“Oh my god. You must have a death wish or something!” Lena cackles. “No one boards the elevator with Regina and lives to tell about it. What did she do?”

“For a few seconds I honestly thought I was going to die, yeah. But then she started talking about our schedule as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.”

“Well, she’s known for being unpredictable.” Jefferson concedes, drinking from his own glass of water.

Emma recalls August’s words over two months ago. _Regina is known for her unpredictability._ Huh. “You know what? We can’t drink to that because of work tomorrow, but I wish we could. Wise words, man. Wise words.”

For some unknown reason, Emma wishes for Regina to continue being unpredictable. If that means weird staring contests and elevator rides, she’s in. _What else awaits me?_


	4. may 2006

“Lena.”

Emma jumps up from her chair and goes into Regina’s office, notebook at the ready. She watches as Regina rummages around in a drawer on the table to the left of her desk. Holding between her two fingers a credit card, she reaches her arm out to Emma.

“Company credit card. Take it and buy yourself your work clothes,” Regina explains pointedly as Emma takes it from her, glancing down at the piece of plastic. “Do not disappoint me.”

Regina’s words are so direct Emma can’t say no. “Thank you,” she says instead, raising her eyes to meet Regina’s, whose placed a hand under her chin contemplatively.

“That’s all.”

[SQ]

Emma glances at her watch and winces. Damn it, she had to wait one hour for a call from the _Italian Runway_ that Regina had been expecting, and now she’s late for dinner with her friends. She enters the restaurant and searches for her friends for a few seconds before spotting them at the counter seats, an empty one saved for her.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late,” she says, setting her Gucci purse on top of the counter. When was the last time they managed to schedule a ‘Monday Night Get-Together’? She goes around, greeting them with kisses to their cheeks and a peck on Neal’s lips. “I had to wait for an important call.”

“Eh, no worries. Neal was just telling us these potatoes’ story, you saved us from that,” Lily teases.

Neal chuckles. “My god, Lily. Sometimes you’re a pain in the ass.”

“I know, and I don’t care.”

August clears his throat. “Children, please…” he pauses and seems to take in Emma’s outfit. “Phew… You look magnificent, Emma.”

“Oh yeah, Ems, you look hot. I might have to steal her from you, Neal.” Lily tries to hide her grin while eating her fries.

Emma sticks her tongue out at Lily. Stealing Emma away from Neal is one of Lily’s favorite jokes.

Neal barks a laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Nah, just kidding. I’m seeing this guy now, but if that doesn’t work out…” Lily sing-songs. Emma loves that Lily is always open about her sexuality, and that their group respects her (and August, too) so much. Back in Storybrooke everything was kept hidden, because once you shared something, suddenly the entire town knew. Emma doesn't miss her hometown in the slightest when recalling this aspect.

“Really guys?” Emma shakes her head, grinning. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have presents!”

“Really? What are they?” Lily asks, apparently forgetting the previous banter as soon as the word 'present' comes out of Emma's mouth.

Emma starts to remove weird gadgets and other stuff Regina didn’t want and had said flippantly, “I don’t care what you do with them, just get them out of my way.”

Between a _Bang & Olufsen _ phone (the thing costs $1,100 according to the internet, and the shape is… ahem, as Lily put it, “Are you sure this is a phone and not a giant vibrator? Either way, I want it. Give it to me,” which made Emma laugh so loud she got some weird looks from nearby customers), some Clinique makeup, perfumes (August tried one immediately, stating “I love your job, Emma.”) and other products she doesn’t have the slightest clue what they are for, her friends (except Neal, who is strangely quiet over it all) thank her profusely and bless her job.

“There’s one more thing, here…” Emma hands Lily a purse. “The new Marc Jacobs. Regina didn’t want it, so…”

“Oh my god. This was sold out, I can’t believe it!” Lily isn’t one for overt displays of excitement, but the huge smile on her face is proof enough. “I can really take it?”

“Yeah, of course. My wardrobe is full as it is.” It’s so weird to realize just how true her statement is.

“What’s the deal with bags, anyway? Why do women have so many?” Neal, who had been silently examining the products, pronounces. “One should be more than enough — you put your stuff in it and you’re done.”

Ugh. What’s the problem with Neal today?

“Fashion is not about utility, Neal,” August explains patiently, while Emma glances at her phone and sees a message from Regina there. “It expresses individual identity.”

 **Regina:** The notes from Ursula’s ideas, where are they?

 **Emma:** I’ll forward them right away.

“And it’s beautiful, I mean, look at this,” Emma hears Lily say, enamored with her new purse.

[SQ]

The immediate response from Emma is refreshing, Regina thinks as she sets her phone aside and goes back to analyzing the layout on a particular page in the Book. The colors will have to change, she tuts. What were they thinking, or better yet, not thinking when they chose this?

Regina tries to concentrate, but there’s something nagging at the back of her mind. There’s Merlin Knight’s party to attend tonight — a necessary evil, because she needs his sketches for this week’s preview.

Before Regina writes down a few suggestions on the post-it she just attached to the page, she glances up and smirks. Here comes a great opportunity for Emma’s final initiate test. Why not send _her_ , instead? Kill two birds with one stone; not having to go to the party, and testing Emma. Perfect.

She grabs her Motorola and flips it open, trying to decide whether to call or text. Emma seemed available before. It wouldn’t hurt to hear her voice—  _to give proper instructions_. Yes.

Regina types in the number and dials.

[SQ]

Emma sets down her T-Mobile on the counter and turns to Neal, trying to make him understand the point. “Yeah. But the thing is, there’s more to Runway than just fancy purses and stuff. Look at all these articles,” she gushes; pointing to famous names in the magazine’s cover she takes out from her bag.

“Yeah, yeah, I think you’re just accepting it because of persuasion.”

“Hey, what the hell—”

Suddenly, her phone’s shrill ringtone startles her, but before she can answer it, Neal grabs it. “I got it. It’s…” he glances at the screen, “Yep, the Evil Queen.”

“Oh, Regina?” Lily asks, amused.

Emma tries to get it from Neal’s grasp. What the hell, they think it’s _funny?_ “Give me that!”

“I’ll tell her to get her own damn coffee,” Lily moves her eyebrows up and down, having taken possession of the phone from Neal. She almost presses the button to answer the call when Emma widens her eyes — _no way_ they’re doing this. Regina would be so angry, and she’d probably lose her job.

“No, Lily, no! It’s gonna…” Emma almost throws herself on top of Neal to get it, but Lily tosses it to August, who catches it in the last second. “…make her mad!”

“I dare you, August!” Neal laughs.

“Give me that phone.” As Emma finally pulls it from August, she gets up and answers the call. “Hi Regina...” Her friends are now trying to contain their laughter. Seriously?

“ _I need you to pick up Merlin Knight’s sketches for the fall collection tonight._ ”

“Absolutely,” Emma nods, forgetting about the chatter around her, forgetting about her annoying friends, forgetting about anything else that might have mattered, because Regina is more important.

“ _I’ll text you with the address. Guard the portfolio with your life. I want it on my desk tomorrow morning._ ”

“Uh-huh. I’m leaving right now.” The line clicks. Emma grabs her purse, her expression unreadable. She can’t believe they almost cost Emma her job, just when Regina finally trusted her with something of this magnitude. “Seriously, guys? Talk to you all later, after you stop being assholes.”

[SQ]

“Here we go. There’s a sketch of Regina’s dress for the benefit. Also the centerpiece of my fall collection…” Merlin Knight hands her a sleek briefcase. “Top secret stuff,” he whispers, a smirk on his lips. The guy looks… flawless. This is a man who clearly knows what favors him, if the suit he’s wearing is anything to go by.

Emma smiles reassuringly. “It’ll be on Regina’s desk tomorrow morning.”

“Great. Now come on,” he motions for her to follow him. “You’re working for Regina Mills. You must be in desperate need of hard liquor. Ask for anything you’d like over there,” he lifts his chin in the direction of the beautifully decorated bar. “Arthur makes a deadly punch. Have fun.”

And that’s why Emma is now nursing a colorful concoction, leaning against the bar and people watching — these strangers who wear expensive clothes… With a jolt, she realizes that’s _her_ as well. She blends in. No one looks at her strangely now.

A few more moments pass. How much time is appropriate for her to spend here? She’s never been one for parties and mingling. It’s tiresome when you don’t have good company.

“I’m much more particular to rum myself.” She turns to find a handsome guy speaking to her. “The punch is deadly. I drank it at Merlin’s last party, and woke up on a sofa wearing a Captain Hook outfit.”

Glancing at the _deadly_ mixture in her hand with some trepidation, Emma sets it down on the counter. No, thanks. She doesn’t want to leave this party intoxicated.

Turning to properly face the man, she watches as he scratches behind his ear, a grin encompassing his whole face. “Ah, wise choice, love,” he chuckles. The endearment rubs her the wrong way, for some reason. Emma knows he means nothing by ‘love’, perhaps it’s an European thing. Is his accent British? Irish? She can’t be sure; however, her ‘love’ is Neal, and only Neal.

“Um… hi,” she says rather awkwardly.

“Killian Jones, at your service.” He offers her the hand that isn’t holding a glass of rum.

Wait. _Famous journalist_ Killian Jones? “Emma Swan. Killian Jones? You’re kidding!” They shake hands, and Emma is excited now —  _Finally a connection to the career I want._ “You write for every magazine I love. I even reviewed some of your essays for my college newspaper!”

“Did you mention I’m devilishly handsome?”

Unsure how to answer that, she just smiles, rearranging her purse on her shoulder.

“What do you do?” he asks after a few moments of awkward silence.

“Oh… I want to work for somewhere like _The New Yorker_ or _Vanity Fair_. I’m a writer too.”

“Why don’t you send over your stuff? I should read it.” She isn’t entirely confident about her ability to accurately read Killian’s expressions. Is he serious? Or is this some blatant flirting?

Whatever it is, there’s no way she’s letting an opportunity like this pass. “That would be great. Thank you. Actually, right now I’m working as Regina Mills’s assistant.”

“The Evil Queen? That’s… so unfortunate. She’s terrible.”

Emma frowns. This ‘nickname’ always grates on her nerves. “Nah, it’s fine.”

“You won’t survive Regina.”

Now he’s pushing it. Who does this guy think he is? “What?” she says flatly.

“Well, you seem… too good for that. Smart. You can’t do it.”

“Um… I’ll see you around, I gotta go.” She picks up the briefcase from the floor.

Seemingly realizing he must’ve said something wrong, Killian scratches behind his ear again (he does it a lot, is it a quirk of his?) and goes back to his drink. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Swan.” Yep, definitely flirting. She rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, see ya.”

[SQ]

The day begins as a typical morning — a few e-mails to write, some accessories to approve, words to correct on one article and then another…

Regina then scrutinizes the sketches Emma left on her desk. The drawings look promising. Merlin is one of the ‘new generation’ designers, and his work is generally like the color amidst the gray, his collections innovative and awe-inspiring. This new work of his, on the other hand, deserves a more thorough inspection up close. For she _knows,_ without seeing the actual colors for the dresses, that if not executed properly, this will be a disaster.

That’s why she pushes up the preview to today and not two days from now.

Regina takes the portfolio in one of her hands and passes through the door to Emma’s assigned space, completely ignoring Lena. “Coat. Bag.” As Emma gets up to get the items for her, Regina’s eyes zero in on the blasted red pleather jacket she thought Emma had burned after she criticized it in their first meeting. Apparently not. If only the material were in better condition… _She must have some sort of attachment to the thing,_ Regina muses.

Since realizing Emma hadn’t been given a company credit card and was, instead, procuring outfits from The Closet, Regina had made sure to get her one. For the most part, Emma is choosing her wardrobe well, without Jefferson’s help. So, despite the horrid jacket, the mid-thigh length black dress she’s sporting with it softens the blow. The way she has adapted to heels truly is also admirable.

Regina stops her inner musings before her scrutiny becomes too apparent. “You’ll be accompanying me to the preview. Gather your things.”

“Me?” Emma squeaks and coughs to cover it up. “Of course it’s me...” Regina hears her mutter, and almost snorts. What Emma does next, however, actually startles her. She sets aside the coat and bag and moves to Regina’s side by the desk, getting well into her personal space. “Can I?” she motions to the portfolio, and Regina hands it to her, puzzled. What is Emma doing?

What Emma is doing becomes clear a few seconds later, because Emma places the folder on the desk as she gathers the coat in her grasp again, opening it so that Regina can slip her arms inside. Regina resists the urge to shiver as Emma’s fingers accidentally brush her neck when she adjusts the coat. The back of her neck does buzz from the touch, though.

Regina lets Emma board the elevator with her again, and avoids dwelling on the matter. It’s practical. As is driving on the same car to the meeting, something she’s never done with Lena or anyone else. To an outsider, it would look like Emma is glued to her side. Well, not glued, because in the car Emma is all jittery nerves, and Regina has to tell her twice to stop fidgeting.

For once, Regina decides to _explain_ what is going to happen next. “You’ll take notes on the dresses. Their colors, materials, that sort of thing,” she gestures vaguely. “Write down _every single word_ Merlin says.” Emma nods, seemingly less nervous.

A few minutes pass before the town car stops in front of the building.

Regina grabs her purse and the portfolio. “Let’s go.”

[SQ]

In the Art Department, Jefferson gives Emma a brief class on ‘How to read Regina’s expressions 101’ after she tells him the preview has been moved up. She also asks him the question: “What’s a preview anyway?”

“Regina is always invited to see the designers’ collections. And, if she isn’t invited, she insists upon seeing them before they show them to the public,” Jefferson explains as he inspects a piece of jean fabric with a critical eye.

“Oh, so she tells them what she thinks?”

He lets go of the fabric, laying it down on the light table. His eyes linger on her for a few seconds, as if to say ‘What do you think, Emma?’ before speaking. “In her own way, of course…” he leans over to scrutinize another piece of fabric, a bright orange thing. “First of all, only a small group of people get to accompany her whenever she does this.

It’s an honor to join her, I would say, because seeing Regina in her element is always fascinating…” he trails off for a moment, seemingly absorbed in his own words. Then, he shakes his head and continues, “Pay attention to her expressions. A turned head is ‘I haven’t bought it yet.’. One nod is good. Two nods is very good. She doesn’t smile — there’s been only one smile on record, and that was Tom Ford in 2001.”

“And what if she doesn’t like it?” Emma asks, eagerly, recording everything in her journal.

“She doesn’t like it if her face becomes unreadable and she glares. However, if she purses her lips…”

Emma lifts her eyes from her notebook, staring at Jefferson. “What does pursing her lips mean?”

“Complete catastrophe.”

[SQ]

This is absurd. _What was he thinking?_ Regina asks herself while stepping out of the building, sunglasses already in place.

“I’m appalled. That was ridiculous. Deal with it.” Regina demands.

“I’ll talk to him,” Jefferson reassures her.

She’s almost at the town car when she hears Emma whispering to Jefferson behind her and strains her ears to distinguish the words. “So because she pursed her lips, he’s gonna change his _entire_ collection?” In spite of herself, Regina smirks, grabbing the handle of the car and waiting for Emma.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Jefferson tells Emma quietly. “Her opinion, Emma, is the one that matters.”

Regina taps her feet and checks her watch. Midday. There’s the shoot right after lunch. She wants to get to the restaurant, and any time today would be nice. “If you’re quite done whispering like the best of friends, I have places to be,” she chimes in, rolling her eyes.

The way both their heads turn to her, as if she caught them red-handed, would be comical any other day, but Regina is too impatient for distractions. “I’m sorry,” blurts Emma.

“I don’t care for excuses… Goodbye Jefferson,” she says as an afterthought, looking over Emma’s shoulder and seeing him turning to walk away. His escape plan clearly interrupted, he gives her a tight-lipped smile and a wave before finally retreating.

“Come along,” she tells Emma, entering the car. As the door closes, she turns to her assistant, ready to give out the instructions for the rest of the day. “First stop is Elias-Clarke. I need you to start transferring your notes — I need them as soon as possible.” Regina sees Emma’s brow furrow in concentration, writing everything down on her Moleskine. “Confirm dinner with my husband.”

“At Pastis? Done,” interjects Emma, glancing up at her.

“And I’ll need a change of clothes for it, since the shoot will probably be the whole afternoon.”

“Well, I’ve already arranged for your outfit to be delivered at 5pm there,” Emma says, properly turned to Regina now. A flutter of excitement makes itself known in Regina’s belly — again Emma predicts and anticipates what she needs.

They fall silent, and it’s not uncomfortable. As they turn onto Sixth Avenue, where the Elias-Clarke building is, Regina cocks her head in Emma’s direction and regards her for a few seconds.

“ _Emma_ , tell Lena I want you to deliver the Book to my home tonight,” Regina says casually, as though nothing of significance has occurred. “Have Lena give you the key.”

Regina wonders how she decided to finally begin using Emma’s name _and_ to give her the responsibility for the Book at the same time. Well, casting her mind back to the day’s events, it’s actually not difficult to see why — Emma has earned it.

[SQ]

Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!

Her mind has chanted this too many times today. The first time, when Regina decides it’s _her_ who will be going to the preview. Then, as if that isn’t enough, they sit together inside the town car. _Twice_. And has she mentioned that Regina’s perfume is divine?

When Regina says her name, her heart misses a beat (or two, because she tells Emma that she is going to be delivering the Book, and oh my god!)

[SQ]

“Here.” Lena takes the key to the townhouse from a drawer and hands it to her. “Don’t lose this.”

“Of course!” Emma bobs her head up and down, going back to her station. “I must have done something right, I mean, at least she doesn’t think I’m a psycho,” she smiles, gloating a little as she sits down on her chair. “She even called me Emma. It was all Lena this, Lena that, ugh…” Setting her elbows on the desk and resting her chin on her hands, she backtracks. “Don’t get me wrong, your name is awesome, but it’s great that she’s finally using mine!”

“Yeah. Whoopee. Leave the celebration for later. Once you’ve survived the Book’s delivery.” Her smile is a sardonic one.

Ouch.

“Now, it’s very important you write this down and do exactly as I tell you.” Lena says this in a serious tone, moving to Emma’s side of the office and leaning over her desk with her palms flat on the surface.

“Oh, okay.” Emma grabs her notebook and a nearby pen then waits for further instructions.

“Here’s what you have to do. The Book is assembled by ten, ten thirty usually. You must wait for it until then…”

[SQ]

_“The car will take you straight to Regina’s townhouse. You will be delivering her dry cleaning with the Book.”_

Emma arrives at the townhouse with the Book under one arm while holding the dry cleaning with the other. She takes a deep breath to assuage her nervousness. It doesn’t do much.

_Here goes nothing._

She walks up the steps to the porch, staring up at the massive building in wonder. It has three large windows above the elegant door she’s in front of, giving it a Victorian look.

_“You let yourself in. Emma, you do not talk to anyone. I’m serious. Do not look at anyone. You must be invisible. This is the important part.”_

She uses the key to make her way inside, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible.

_“Don’t forget to remove your shoes. Leave them right by the door.”_

Walking across the foyer, now barefoot, she hangs the dry cleaning in the closet on her right side, under the stairs, per Lena’s strict instructions.

_“And you leave the Book on the table with the flowers in the foyer.”_

The place is huge — so many rooms! Dark cherry wood furniture and light colors for wallpaper and decorations contrast perfectly, creating a clean, sophisticated look, which is only made more pronounced with the high ceiling and open space. She tries to absorb it all, mouth ajar in amazement. It’s incredible! The dark mahogany floor is so polished she can see her reflection.

She blinks and shakes her head, trying to focus. _Okay Emma, what now?_ There are two tables there. Not one as Lena had made her believe. Two. She walks up the steps and hesitates in the middle of the foyer. “Shit,” Emma whispers. Which one is it? Oh my god. One table is on the left wall, the other on the right wall separating the archway that leads to a study or, maybe, a sitting room? And both have flowers in them. From what Emma can see, after the study/sitting room there’s a big kitchen.

Emma tries to remain calm. _OK. Assess the situation._ There’s the living room to her left, which also has a table with flowers, but she discards that because it’s too far, right? It has to be. The corner of a coffee table is visible at what she’s named the study, but it has no flower vase on it, thankfully. Will it make a difference if she chooses one of the two tables, though? The flowers are exactly the same!

Emma’s so caught up in her inner dilemma, she practically jumps when she hears muffled voices, evidently raised, through one of the closed doors to her right. Cursing at herself and especially at Lena, she sings ‘Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe’ under her breath and picks the left table to leave the Book. _Now, evacuate the building!_

“Psst!” She hears the whisper as she whirls around to make her exit. She gives a cursory look around and almost misses the young boy leaning his arms on the banister of the second floor landing, staring at her curiously. _This must be Henry, Regina’s son._ “Where’s Lena?” the boy asks.

“I’ve been given the task of delivering the Book now.” She answers in a low tone, looking at the door with the raised voices warily. “Sorry, but I have to go, kid. Shouldn’t you be in bed? Surely your parents wouldn’t like you being up this late.” She has to go. Imagine what would happen if Regina saw her here?

“Robin isn’t my dad…” he replies, going down a few stairs to get closer to her. “And I can’t sleep while they’re fighting.” He pouts, and damn it, the kid is cute. He has brown hair and bright green eyes, an adorable little button nose and freckled cheeks. There are definite similarities between him and his mother, but some of his features must have come from his father. Where’s the kid’s father, anyway, if Robin isn’t him? The internet didn’t have anything to say on the subject. Does Regina keep it under wraps?

She doesn’t have much experience with children, but Henry’s eyes are wise beyond his years — he has that same calculating gaze Regina does, and Emma has yet to determine if it bothers her. “Besides, you’re the first assistant that actually stopped to talk to me — the ones before you pretended I was invisible. I don’t have superpowers!” he grins shakily, sitting down on the last step.

After a quick glance towards the closed door where Regina and Robin’s voices are coming from, Emma sits down next to Henry. “Who knows, you still have time to be bitten by a radioactive spider or something,” she says in a playful tone.

He laughs, and it’s a sweet sound — much better than seeing him upset. “With great power there must also come—”

“— great responsibility!” she finishes the quote.

His eyes light up and he grabs her arm, shaking it in his excitement. “Oh my god, do you read comic books?”

Emma nods. “Yep. Haven’t had the time recently, but it was my favorite activity when I wasn’t studying for my exams at university.”

“That’s so cool!”

Emma smiles warmly at the kid. He’s so precious. “I’m Emma, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Emma. I should let you go, though. Who knows what will happen if Mom…” The moment he utters these words, as though she’d been summoned, Regina forcefully opens the door from the adjoining room she and Robin were in.

Her back is to the stairs, clearly not done at the conversation with Robin. “What did you expect me to do,” Emma watches as she perches one hand on her hip, the other hand closed in a fist, “walk out in the middle of a cover shoot?”

Henry whispers as quietly as possible into her ear, “Run for your life,” and she realizes he’s right — she has to go, and fast. Getting up as Henry does, she takes a moment or two to figure out how to make her escape, while Henry hides in the living room next to the stairs.

“ _I_ rushed out of an investment committee meeting, and, just like the last times, I sat there waiting for you for almost an hour!” Robin answers just as loud as Regina had.

“And I’ve already told you the cell phones did not work. If I could, I would have called, damn it!” she throws her arms up in exasperation. “What are you even looking at—”

 _R.I.P. Emma Swan,_ she thinks as Regina whirls around to investigate what has distracted Robin. She hadn’t been able to walk more than a few steps before being discovered. _Great job, Emma. You’re dead._

“ _What_ are you doing here.” Regina growls and the sound is almost inhuman. She has never heard Regina with her voice raised. At the office, she always speaks in low tones. Moreover, if she’s mad, her mask of indifference covers it, behind carefully crafted insults. Right now, however, Regina’s face is flushed, nostrils flared, and she’s definitely not indifferent.

“I-I was on my way out and…” At Regina’s withering glare, Emma trails off and tries to make herself look smaller.

“Get out.” Her deadly tone leaves no opening for excuses. Regina clearly doesn't want to hear it.

When no further comment is issued at her, Emma turns to the entrance, almost falling down the three steps to get there. Heels now hanging from her fingers, she closes the door behind her, not believing her lack of luck.

Once outside, she realizes she’d been holding her breath since being spotted. Taking big gulps of air, the adrenaline previously pumping through her veins wearing off, she brushes a trembling hand through her hair. “What the hell was that?” she whispers to the chilly night. What did she just do? She didn’t mean to—

What will happen tomorrow?

She really doesn’t want to find out.

[SQ]

When Regina feels the heat on her cheeks receding, she finally turns away from the door and pinches the bridge of her nose. Robin has disappeared to god knows where in the house, and this is… she has no words for it. And Regina is never speechless.

Emma wouldn’t risk telling anyone about what she’s witnessed, would she? The non-disclosure agreement should cover that. It’s simply…

Regina sighs, picking up the Book from the wrong table. Didn’t Lena explain which one it was?

 _Embarrassing._ That’s the word she was looking for.

No one should know what emotions are behind her mask. Behind _Regina Mills, editor-in chief of Runway._ That her relationship is deteriorating. Or that every wall of this enormous house is filled with tension, guilt, and barely concealed resentment.

She hugs the Book to her chest and, before entering one of her home offices, Regina frowns as she hears a noise in a nearby room.

Heels clacking too noisily on the floor, she gets to the living room and turns the lights on. “Henry. Come here.”

Sure enough, her little prince comes out of his hiding place behind one of the sofas, sheepishly scuffing his shoe against the floor. “Hi, Mom.”

“You were downstairs the whole time.” She doesn’t bother asking. His attitude is proof enough.

Moving closer to her, he nods, not at all enthusiastically. He’s probably waiting for a lecture about it. She’s so _tired_ though. Sighing, she hugs him. “You were supposed to be asleep, Henry. You have school tomorrow.”

“I know, but…”

She doesn’t want him to finish his sentence, already knowing what it will be. “Let’s go. I’ll tuck you in, how does that sound?” The gentleness in her tone would be foreign to anyone outside of her home.

He hugs her tightly for a few seconds, and she tries to absorb his warmth, tries to push away the bad feelings taking root inside her chest. “Yeah. Sounds perfect, Mom.”

[SQ]

Between face-to-face demands, calls every few minutes and an e-mailed list, Emma thinks she’s going to be mad by the end of the day. It’s not even two in the afternoon and she’s already fulfilled at least twenty requests from Regina. This is what she gets for trying to apologize for last night.

“You better have everything completed by 4. Don’t bother coming back otherwise. That’s all.”

 _I would like my steak from Smith & Wollensky today. _(The place doesn’t open until 11:30.)

 _Buy that limited edition comic book Henry wants._ (Which one is that?)

_The samples from that new designer, where are they?_

_Arrange some flowers for Maya, something happened to her cat._ (Where’s the number of Regina’s favorite florist?)

_Polaroids from 11A to 22A._

_Have the brakes checked on my Mercedes._

_Pick up my shoes from Blahnik._

Emma holds her T-Mobile to her ear while briskly navigating New York’s streets in search of _The store on Madison with the little lamp I liked._

“Hello?” her boyfriend’s voice asks on the line.

“Neal! I’m going to quit.” She frowns. Her words sound half-hearted even to her.

“Quit? Are you sure?”

“I won’t be able to finish this. There are still ten items on the list. She’s gonna fire me.” _Please Neal, I need some advice!_

“Wow. Em, you’ll be free! Congrats.” _What?_

Not quite the response she was hoping for. Is he really _happy_ about this? “Listen, I’ll…” Ha! Regina stood in front of this store’s window _once_ last week, but there it is, the ‘little lamp’ she wants (which is veeery weird, in Emma’s opinion.) “I’ll call you later, bye.”

 _He doesn’t believe in me,_ are the words repeating over and over in her head when she enters the store and a little bell jingles to announce her entrance.

Time to prove everyone wrong.

[SQ]

Her concentration on one of the photos for the spread is broken when she hearts clacking heels against the linoleum floor — Regina turns her chair in time to see Emma setting a Starbucks coffee on top of the desk (right on the corner, where she prefers) with no small amount of noise.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Regina raises an eyebrow, eyeing the binder that was subsequently dropped next to her coffee. She casts the photo aside to give her full attention to Emma, who looks disgruntled, her movements jerky and has a steely edge to her expression. Moreover, her hair is matted like she’s just run a marathon, which is most likely the truth. Regina did give more instructions than she could count.

“I organized by color every request you’ve made today according to their category, then specified where or how each solution was found. Oh, I took the liberty of adding the notes I took from Merlin Knight’s preview the other day, and copied down your reactions for each piece of clothing.”

Regina stares right into Emma’s eyes, impressed, but doesn’t move to take the binder. There’s a proud smirk playing around the edges of Emma’s lips, as much as she tries to suppress it. If Regina has to guess, she completed at least forty demands. That’s… unbelievable. “Am I supposed to believe you finished everything I asked before 4 pm?”

Her assistant nods resolutely, without flinching under Regina’s scrutiny. “I did. Ran like never before, but I did.” Emma smiles, but it soon drops, her expression serious once more. “Along the way I realized my behavior was completely out of line yesterday. What I witnessed was personal and not meant for me to hear. I hope you know I didn’t do it on purpose. And I would _never_ tell anyone, in case you were…” Without her glasses, to keep her hands busy she puts them in her pockets. Rocking on her heels, with a guilty expression on her face, she continues, “...wondering, or… yeah. Just wondering.”

Taking a sip from her scalding coffee, Regina barely refrains from rolling her eyes. What had started as a surprisingly eloquent speech finished as mumbled nonsense. No matter. A warm feeling settles in her chest, not because Emma managed to thwart her firing attempt, no, of course not. It’s the perfect temperature no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot that makes her buzz with excitement. Excitement that doesn’t show on her face.

She holds Emma’s gaze for a few more seconds. Yes, definitely impressive. “That’s all,” she says, and then swivels in her chair to face the window again. She made no move to take the binder, pretending she is not curious as hell about it. She will not reveal how much she’d hoped Emma would succeed. Just how much Emma’s words alleviated her mind.

She hopes Emma will forget what she saw yesterday. Regina is _powerful._ Regina doesn't have weaknesses.

So why does she feel weak for allowing Emma to continue as her assistant? What changed, besides a few completed demands?

Regina takes a sip absentmindedly, gently rocking her chair as she contemplates her questions. Usually, the answers come promptly, but there are no solutions today.

[SQ]

“Hey, babe, I’m home!” Neal shouts, closing the door behind him. Setting down a bunch of bags on their small dinner table, Neal continues speaking, “I bought some quality stuff at Dean & Deluca. Really expensive, but I figured since you quit your job we should celebrate.”

Emma looks up from the texture samples she’s organizing with a wince. “Listen, Neal… The thing is—”

He interrupts her. “Wait. You quit your job. Why are you looking at fabrics? Got a sudden interest in fashion?” He chuckles.

She sets aside a piece of leather and smiles sheepishly. Here we go.

Neal groans, immediately understanding her look. “Really, Emma?”

Emma gets up from the couch. “As I was trying to say, after we talked, I realized…” Should she say she realized no one believed she could do it? “Um… it doesn’t make sense throwing away nearly four months of hard work.”

“Your job sucks,” he counts on his fingers, “your boss is crazy… And I can’t even imagine how you completed all those tasks today.”

“Huh.” Emma’s hands rest against her hips, intrigued. “You didn’t believe I could do it.”

“You’re not the same, Emma!” He has the audacity to _whine_ , completely disregarding her comment.

“Of course I’m the same! I’m still the same person! I still want the same things.” She still wants to work in publishing. That hasn’t changed.

“No you’re not. Look at you!” He motions to the clothes she’s wearing, and Emma crosses her arms.

“Come on. I’m the same Emma, only with better clothes.”

“I like the old clothes,” he says pointedly. When Emma doesn’t budge, he sighs. “Whatever. It’s your job.”

“Damn right it is. I don’t go around complaining about your job. Why is it that mine is different?” Just because she wants to succeed, it’s not worth it?

“You know what? I’m not going to argue with you,” he says, moving to the door. “Enjoy the wine I bought.”

As he opens the door, she asks, bewildered, “Where are you going?”

“Out. I… I’ll be back later.”

The door closes with a bang. She takes a deep breath and drops face-first onto the couch, groaning. Are they really fighting over this?

So what if she’s wearing different clothes?

So what if she wants to succeed? Her job doesn’t suck… most of the time, anyway. There’s always a challenge to overcome, so there’s that.

Emma is finally being recognized, right? A ‘promotion’, if that’s what it means being responsible for the Book. She’s finally mastering this. Why is her personal life paying such a heavy toll because of it?

It all happened so fast… In less than three days, Regina’s trusted her to go to Merlin’s party, called her by her real name, and asked her to wait for the Book. Her boss is inside her head almost 24/7, and the worst thing is Emma doesn’t care. Is the job really changing her?

Emma enters the en suite bathroom and proceeds to remove her clothes, in desperate need of a shower. Her muscles are sore from all the running she had to do today. “Forty-seven. I completed forty-seven demands and she doesn’t even…” Emma groans, the warm water cascading down her back.

What was that, anyway? If Regina was scared Emma was going to spread rumors about her (that’s the only possible explanation she can think of to explain the way Regina reacted) why not fire her on the spot? Why give her a chance instead?

Thirty minutes later, Emma collapses on the bed, her mind in overdrive. Neal still hasn’t returned. She tries to recall the last time they fought like this, but it’s useless. Her mind is too preoccupied with thoughts about Regina. Is this how Regina feels when she and Robin argue?

She hides her face in her pillow, heaving a sigh. _Regina._ Her thoughts keep coming back to her boss. Her brain is caught up on how change is happening in every aspect of her life and she can’t seem to do anything to stop it. She just hopes the changes ultimately lead her to a happy ending.


	5. june 2006

_“En garde!”_ says Henry, jumping out of the closet and brandishing a plastic sword in her direction.

Emma yelps, hand to her racing heart. “Henry, you almost made me drop the dry cleaning!” she admonishes. “Your mom would kill me.”

“Sorry, Emma...” he replies, not sorry at all, if his grin is anything to go by.

“I have to admit, that was pretty funny.” Emma chuckles, stepping around Henry to hang the dry cleaning properly inside the closet. This kid is awesome. Closing it carefully, she turns to Henry. “Careful. If I weren’t wearing these heels, we’d see who would need to be _en garde_ ,” she teases.

He rolls his eyes and gives a little huff. “Ha, ha. Like you would do it.”

They fall in step to the foyer as they continue their easy banter. “Just wait, kid. Just wait.” Emma sets the Book on the flower table (the right one, always right) and says, “Well, I guess I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow, kid?”

“Mhmm!” he nods enthusiastically.

A few seconds later, she closes the door behind her and is walking down the steps of the porch when she hears the door open.

“Emma!” he calls her, “Mom wants to talk to you.”

“Oh. Okay?” Emma frowns, moving back inside the townhouse.

“She’s right there.” Henry points to the archway between the walls with the tables. “Good luck.” He gives her a thumbs up.

Emma bites her bottom lip and steers herself in that direction. She’s almost past the sitting room to the kitchen when a voice calls from her right. “Emma.”

She turns to find Regina in an armchair, flipping her phone shut. On the wall above, there’s a framed picture of Henry modelling for the camera with a big smile. It’s so cute Emma almost grins at the sight, but avoids doing so to remain in her role as the no-nonsense assistant.

When Regina speaks again, Emma looks back at Regina’s face, feeling oddly caught. “Cancel my presence at that event today.”

“The gallery opening at 8... Oh, I just dropped your outfit in the closet.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Regina dismisses the thought with her hand, “because I don’t have anyone to watch Henry.” She turns her head to the side, fiddling with her necklace.

“What about his nanny?”

Regina turns back to her, with a look that says, ‘Are you dense on purpose?’

Crossing her arms, Emma tries to think of a solution, since the nanny is out of question. Apparently, she takes too much time to answer, because just as she is forming an idea, Regina says, “Well, what are you waiting for? Go.”

The words tumble out of Emma’s mouth before she can rein them in. “I could watch Henry this evening.” Her arms drop to her sides, and she almost widens her eyes. What has she done?

“I beg your pardon?” Regina asks.

 _There’s no going back now._ “Yeah, um… I could watch Henry. It’s no problem.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have anything better to do on a Friday night?”

Emma thinks of what awaits her at home — an apartment still filled with leftover tension from her and Neal’s argument. The answer is easy, “I don’t. I’m happy to help.”

Regina flips open and closed her Motorola, the sound grating on Emma’s nerves, as she actually considers Emma’s suggestion. “Hmm… I suppose that would be acceptable, if Henry’s okay with it…” Uncrossing her legs, Regina adjusts her dress and gets up. “Henry!” she calls, not loudly. Henry hears her, despite the lack of volume, and moves into the room.

“Yeah?”

Regina bends slightly to be at her son’s eye level. “Would you mind if Emma watches you tonight, instead of Johanna? She has called in sick.” Regina’s tone is different whenever she speaks to Henry. Her eyes become soft, too. And she doesn’t do that scary thing where she says whole sentences without blinking.

Henry stares at both of them, trying to figure out what’s happening. “For real?”

“Yes, Henry, ‘for real’.” Regina rolls her eyes, smiling gently.

“Awesome!”

[SQ]

It turns out Henry is incredibly sweet. The boy is pure innocence and excitement all rolled in one.

“Let’s go, Emma!”

He shows her his drawings once they enter his bedroom on the third floor, so proud of himself. The drawings are incredibly beautiful for a ten year-old, so that’s what she tells him, impressed.

“Well, I’m not as good as my mom, but she tells me I’ll get there someday, and even surpass her.” He flashes her one of his adorable smiles.

Emma finds that learning more about Regina is a bonus she definitely takes advantage of. Regina turns out to be even more talented, if she’s to believe Henry’s word. Apparently, she’s the one teaching Henry to draw as well as how to play the piano. She also helps him improve his writing.

Whew. Flash-forward a few years and she might be seeing Henry Mills’s name everywhere, just like his outstanding mother.

They play the newly released _Kingdom Hearts 2_ on Playstation 2, and Emma is useless.

“ _Emma_ ,” he whines, “if you don’t use Cure you’ll die again!”

She alternates between staring at the big screen of the TV and her controller. “Kid, I’m horrible at this!” She chuckles. “You want me to beat one of the hardest battles— I’ve never played before!”

“Sephiroth isn’t that hard…” He snickers, and without looking at him she knows he’s having too much fun at her expense. “Okay, it’s just funny to watch you try.”

[SQ]

Emma helps him with his math problems, as best as she can, and they have the takeout dinner from _Smith & Wollensky _ Regina ordered before leaving. She will swoon over that steak for weeks to come.

Emma is able to glimpse Regina in her outfit for the evening when she says goodbye to Henry and it’s… insanely beautiful. The asymmetrical burgundy velvet skirt barely brushing Regina’s knees is brilliantly paired with a white blouse neatly tucked inside it. Black Louboutins give her a good few inches in height.

Regina never fails to impress. It’s like her body is made for expressing this form of art, as if she’s Fashion herself. As if she invented it (which, in some ways, she did — and still does. It’s visible in each and every _Runway_ issue published).

Later in the evening, they’re trying to complete a two-thousand jigsaw puzzle before Regina gets home.

“Emma, you’re really good at this!”

She chuckles as she fits another piece in the right place. “I guess I am…” she trails off. There’s something on her mind and she hasn’t been able to shake it off, but she wonders if she should ask it. Won’t it sound suspicious? It’s not like she wants to know for professional purposes or anything. She’s curious.

“Emma? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

He tilts his head, dropping the piece and trying to understand what’s happening. His uncanny resemblance to Regina makes her even more curious about everything. What’s his story? What happened to his father?

Does she have anything to lose? _Of course you do, idiot. What if he gets upset?_

Henry touches her arm. “I won’t be mad,” he says in a soft tone, like he knows what she wants to ask. His intelligence goes beyond his years — is this really a ten year-old?

Emma sighs, busted. “The day we met, remember?”

“Of course. Mom almost killed you,” he teases, smiling.

She shakes her head, mock-glaring at him. “Well…” she turns serious. “You said Robin isn’t your dad.”

“That’s true,” he nods. “Dad passed away when I was four.”

Oh. That’s… wow. “Oh, kid…” She grasps his hand gently. “I’m sorry, Henry,” she says sincerely.

“It’s okay, Emma. I was young and, besides, Mom tells me he’s right here,” he points to his heart, “so he’s always with me.”

“Huh. That’s pretty cool,” she smiles gently.

“Yeah. I just wish Mom would believe her own words.”

[SQ]

Regina glides through the room, barely paying attention to the paintings and other art works in front of her. Her mind is elsewhere; berating herself for agreeing to the preposterous idea of _Emma_ taking care of her son.

People make an effort to engage her in small talk, but their attempts are fruitless. What was she thinking? Or rather, _not_ thinking when she decided to trust Emma? Since when does Regina _trust_ second assistants to watch her little prince?

Henry is everything. The moment she first held him, she’d been terrified. Then, the smell of his soft baby hair and the sound of his breathing had soothed her fears. In the blink of an eye, she had fallen in love with that precious creature that was all hers and Daniel’s. _Don’t go there, Regina_ , her mind warns her, hence why she gulps down the rest of the cheap champagne in her hand and avoids letting her thoughts stray again.

Henry is everything, so her uncharacteristic behavior is disconcerting. What is Emma’s aim here? What is she planning to accomplish? Learn more about her personal life, perhaps… What does she hope to gain from it?

Her last question, _does she even know how to care for a child?_ , is probably what makes her leave the gallery opening as soon as it is socially acceptable.

That’s why she corners Emma by the exit before she leaves for the evening, despite Henry’s assurances that everything went fine.

“Do I need to be concerned about this, _Emma?”_

Emma stares blankly at her.

Regina crosses her arms. “I don’t need to remind you about the non-disclosure agreement.” She quirks an eyebrow, waiting to see if Emma will pick up on her meaning.

“What…” Emma frowns for a few seconds, before her eyes widen comically. “Oh, no. No, no. I’d never… _No,_ Regina,” she says vehemently.

Something in Emma’s eyes tell her her assistant’s being truthful. Regina feels a pang in her chest and cannot pinpoint what it means. “Good, well…” She glances to the side, her perfectly manicured nails tapping her crossed arms to assuage her nerves. _What are you doing, Regina?_

They stay silent for what feels like hours.

“Henry’s a really sweet boy, Regina,” Emma tells her suddenly. “You must be proud.”

“Of course I am.”

Then Emma leaves, and Regina remains staring at the door as if it will somehow give the answers to her questions. She’s confused beyond belief by the wild turn of the conversation.

[SQ]

  

> **From:** Henry Mills  <henrymills@yahoo.com>
> 
> **To:** Emma Swan  <emmaswan@usrunway.com>
> 
> **Sent:** Saturday, June 10th, 2006 07:21 PM
> 
> **Subject:** Hi!
> 
> Hi Emma, it’s Henry! (in case you didn’t notice)
> 
> Mom asked me to thank you using my email since you gave me yours yesterday.
> 
> So thank you! I had a great time yesterday, you are awesome :) See you on Monday?
> 
> Have a great weekend!
> 
> Henry

[SQ]

 

> **From:** Emma Swan  <emmaswan@usrunway.com>
> 
> **To:** Henry Mills  <henrymills@yahoo.com>
> 
> **Sent:** Saturday, June 10th, 2006 07:30 PM
> 
> **Subject:** Re: Hi!
> 
> Hello Henry!
> 
> It was no problem, really! Anytime.
> 
> I’m still going to beat Sephiroth, you’ll see. (First I have to stop dying.) You’re awesome too, kid.
> 
> If the Book isn’t ready early don’t wait up for me! You need that extra sleep, got it?
> 
> Hope you have a great weekend as well. See you soon!
> 
> Emma

[SQ]

What a boring day. She would groan if Regina weren’t in the adjoining room. My god, who knew she’d miss running errands? There’s nothing interesting about manning the phones while waiting for Lena to be back from whatever it is she went to.

Emma moves the cursor randomly around the screen, following it with her eyes. It still has an awful screensaver of a flower she never changed because she’d been sure she wouldn’t last on the job. Well, it _does_ remind her she’s replaceable, so there’s that...

“Emma. Have Jefferson bring me the latest proofs. Tell Kathryn I’d like to see what she has picked for the 90s spread.”

Emma looks up from her iMac to find Regina on the threshold of the main office, waiting for her reply. She summons her notes into her mind’s eye… Has she completed either of the two tasks already? Lately she’s been able to predict what Regina needs before she asks it. It’s eerie; however, it does make her job easier. “I’ll call him right now,” she says. “Kathryn will be joining us soon.” Regina had asked for the 90s article first thing in the morning. Whenever she asks for an article to edit, it usually means she will have a run-through next. Emma had warned everyone involved in run-throughs to be ready, so now she texts Kathryn hoping she was heard.

Regina hums and goes back inside her office.

Sitting back in her chair, Emma tries extremely hard not to slouch. After the day she watched Henry and reassured Regina she didn’t have a master plan, her boss has been _nicer_ to her, in her own way. It’s hard to explain, but subtle things sum up to give substance to the idea, like the fact that Regina doesn’t say ‘That’s all.’ with a condescending connotation to it. Having said that, the workload is still the same, sometimes even worse.

Emma doesn’t mind it. Seeing everything spotless and organized has become crucial to her.

The computer alerts her to a new e-mail, so she stops fiddling with her pen to check her inbox.

 

> **From:** Henry Mills  <henrymills@yahoo.com>
> 
> **To:** Emma Swan  <emmaswan@usrunway.com>
> 
> **Sent:** Monday, June 19th, 2006 05:00 PM
> 
> **Subject:** Travel
> 
> Hi Emma!!
> 
> You won’t believe what Mom told me yesterday. I’m leaving tomorrow to visit my Dad’s parents! It’s so cool, because it’s rare that I get to see them during school time. I’m going to spend the whole week there. Mom letting me skip school? That’s crazy!!
> 
> I can’t complain.
> 
> I’ll miss you! See you next week.

 

Emma smiles — that’s good for him; at least he still has some sort of connection to his dad’s family. What will it mean for Regina, though? One week without Henry? Let it be hoped it won’t affect her mood (too much) in the office.

[SQ]

Regina does not know what makes her do it. When she hears the tell-tale sign of Emma’s heels she calls out, wanting her to deliver the Book to her in the living room. Actually, her mind does not allow her to lie. She knows the reasons. However, admitting those are a different story.

She has this… _habit_ of overanalyzing her actions and thoughts, of not being able to only scratch the surface. While useful in some aspects of her life, it proves to be maddening where her emotions are concerned.

So there. She knows she is quite done after having fought _again_ with Robin, she knows she misses her little prince, who will not be back for three more days, and she definitely knows she feels alone, despite her husband’s presence upstairs.

That is why Emma now stands in front of her, waiting patiently for instructions, like the perfect assistant she’s become. Regina grabs _Runway’s_ mock-up and opens to the additions on the page numbered 54. She purses her lips. They got it wrong, again.

“What do you think of this, Emma?” she asks, tilting her head in her assistant’s direction.

“W-what? I mean…” Emma brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “Can I?” She gestures to the vacant spot next to her on the sofa. Regina nods. After she accommodates herself, keeping some distance between them, Regina turns the Book closer to her so she can see it better.

Emma’s brows furrow in concentration, as she tries to see what Regina is seeing. Regina can’t bring herself to stop staring, because Emma is quite a fascinating creature. Her long golden hair falls in loose curls, and as Emma pushes hair behind her ears, sharp cheekbones become visible. Regina finds herself drinking in her assistant’s features and realizing Emma is even more attractive up close.

Regina can’t help noticing these things — beauty is what motivates her, is what she searches for daily. She can’t stop. It’s part of who she is. And Emma is like a… a gorgeous painting not yet finished. There are things she does not know. It’s a half-completed canvas, waiting for her to find the missing touches.

After a few moments, Regina blinks in confusion when she finds Emma looking at her expectantly. Realizing a question must have been asked, she shakes her head and says, “Could you repeat that?” _What are you doing, Regina? Acting weird again!_

“The cerulean clashes with the…” Emma pauses, glancing at her to check if she’s close. To Regina’s surprise, she is. “The… pink. I forgot this shade’s name. Sorry,” she mumbles. “It’s with C, isn’t it?”

Regina nods, stunned. Emma knows the colors… “Someone has studied,” she says, looking at her intently.

Emma gives her a shy smile in answer.

They spend at least thirty minutes going over details, Regina crossing out and writing notes where change is needed, Emma listening attentively to her explanations. She sounds interested, and it fuels Regina’s desire to proceed.

It’s a welcome reprieve from everything that has been going on. It’s a different sensation, as well — having someone who actually wants to listen to her talking about her passion.

[SQ]

Emma arrives home past midnight, but can’t bring herself to regret it. She feels warm and fuzzy. Putting on her pajamas quietly to avoid bothering Neal, Emma wonders if Regina is feeling better now.

It was clear to Emma when she was called to deliver the Book personally that something wasn’t right. The fire in Regina had seemed diminished.

As Emma lies down, she fondly recalls the way Regina gesticulated excitedly, pausing before certain words to make sure Emma was still paying attention. The way she looked as if she knew the world, and might share some of it with Emma. The way her eyes had sparkled.

It’s a side to Regina she didn’t know before — she was softer, almost none of the worry lines around her mouth and eyes visible. If possible, she looked even more beautiful.

Before falling asleep, Emma wonders how it must feel to be separated from your child. (She decides she will call her parents in the morning.) She hopes she was able to help Regina.

[SQ]

The September issue overlaps the issue they are currently working on, and that’s fine, Regina muses, because they have to beat last year’s 743 page count. And for that to happen, everything has to be perfect.

Thankfully, this year she has two competent assistants again, which helps everything run smoothly.

Regina is now inside the Storyboard Room with Jefferson. Since Patrick sent the chosen photos for the twenty pages spread, she’s hardly had the time to stop by her office today.

This room is one of her favorites. It’s located in one of the hidden corners of _Runway’s_ offices, while still being relatively close to her own. It’s always quiet here. No one besides her assistants disturbs her. They know better.

Here is where the magic begins.

The display board they’re analyzing is for the middle of September’s issue. They’ve already set one part of the storyboard. Regina will most likely end up editing it later.

“Did they send you the fixed layout?” Jefferson asks, moving one of the magnetic cards to another position on the board.

“Yes, the alternate color palette and the new font did the trick. The Winter Wonderland spread is wonderful at last,” Regina tells him. “Now, the proofs,” she starts, picking up one of the photos for the spread in question. “We need to narrow down the photos.”

Jefferson hums. “What if we take this...” He points to the one where the model’s head is turned to the side. Patrick did a fantastic job on it. The snow contrasts ominously with the black Elie Saab gown. “And set it next to the starting piece. We could remove one of these…”

They continue to organize the board for a few minutes before Regina hears a knock on the door. Turning in its direction, she finds Emma waiting patiently. Emma and the horrid red faux leather jacket. Ugh.

“Yes?” Regina asks.

“Sorry to interrupt, but your three o’clock has arrived.” Emma answers.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Move along,” Regina motions with her hand to the door, dismissing Emma. Seeing the ridiculous jacket has started an idea forming in her mind. And Jefferson is going to help it to come to fruition.

“I’m always blown away every time I look at my Swan,” he says dreamily. “That jacket, however…”

“That’s exactly why I’m still here. I want you to take that jacket from Ocean Drive leather that’s in the Closet,” Regina instructs. Jefferson is staring at her in disbelief, clearly understanding where this is going.

“T-that collection from the story you killed for April’s issue?”

“Precisely. Take the red one and give it to Emma. You are not to say it was my idea. Understood?”

“Just like the other gifts, Regina?” Jefferson shakes his head. “What’s going on?”

Regina eyes him. How dare he… “None of your business,” she says flatly. “Now go, and do as I asked.”


	6. july 2006

Emma grins to herself in front of the mirror and adjusts the reddish-brown jacket (a much better color than the previous bright red one) with flap chest pockets. Getting ready for another day of work, she can’t stop her fingers from brushing over the fantastic material. _Best gift ever_.

She had thought the random gifts had stopped. After getting the credit card, August had gone shopping with her, helping her choose clothes that would suit her style while still being appropriate for work. Bless him for his sense of fashion.

She had not been expecting to receive a leather jacket from Jefferson last month. Who gives away one of those, just like that? Fashion people are crazy sometimes. “Swan, if you’re really _that_ attached to leather jackets, do wear something that has quality. Nobody can stand the monstrosity you insist on wearing. Take it,” he’d said, presenting the item to her.

Her eyes had sparkled then, she’s sure. _I mean, look at this,_ she muses, smiling at her own reflection, _so beautiful_. Although she’d been sad to part ways with her old jacket, this one feels even more _special_ , since it’s such a thoughtful gift. Behind Jefferson’s mean words, she knows he means well, and hadn’t been able to say no to him. Well, she _almost_ did return it after doing some digging and finding out its price. However, she was too attached to it already.

She’d worn it at least five times last month.

“Bye, Neal!” she says, closing the door behind her. The sun is shining brightly, and she places a hand in front of her face to block it. She’ll probably end up having to remove her jacket, if the day gets any hotter. The air is as fresh as it will ever get in New York City, but it feels good to be outside.

She calls Starbucks before getting on the subway. “Hi, yes, this is Regina Mills’ assistant… Okay, one no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot and three drip coffees with room for milk, plus a blueberry muffin with yogurt and honey.” When did Emma learn this order by heart? She has no clue.

Everything is running smoothly. She can’t complain.

[SQ]

Regina has come to rely on Emma. That’s a fact. Her second assistant is much more competent than Lena ever was. That’s also a fact.

“Emma.” The woman in question appears at the door ready to jump at Regina’s slightest command. She’s wearing the jacket. Regina’s heart skips a beat. "I need you to take some notes,” she says, motioning to the chair in front of her desk.

She cannot understand why Emma's presence makes her feel this way. The excitement bubbling inside her chest whenever Emma is near is extremely uncommon, yet she welcomes it. It’s new. It differs from her routine. _A challenge_. This is most definitely a fact.

[SQ]

Regina strides into her office and almost smiles at the sight of her latte on her desk.

After editorial meetings she’s usually left dissatisfied and tense, and today is no exception, so coffee is a blessing. Sitting on her chair, she grabs the Starbucks cup and takes a sip, not caring if her tongue protests against the heat.

Regina opens her notebook to see what she has noted about August’s issue while turning on her Macbook Pro. She slides her reading glasses on and starts writing her Editor’s Note. One of her favorite activities — it means they are close to finishing the issue.

She hears Lena’s rattling cough again and winces in disgust.

She cannot rely on her first assistant at the Benefit tonight, now can she? Not with her being _sick._

That’s why, calling her two assistants inside her office, she decides Emma will accompany them. Not raising her eyes from her laptop, she says, “I need you both sharp on the guest list for tonight’s benefit.”

Emma showcases her characteristic trait of saying what she’s feeling by having the audacity to ask, “Um… I thought only the first assistant went to the benefit?”

Peering over her glasses at her assistants, Regina huffs. “Yes. But when the first assistant is unreliable, let’s say, because she has decided to become...” she forces the next word out of her mouth like it’s Lena’s fault, _“sick…_ adjustments are made. You’ll come and help her. That’s all.”

[SQ]

Emma is doing her best not to _freak out_ because how do you memorize an entire guest list of _Runway’s Benefit_ in less than two hours?

She takes the _two_ binders with photos and names with her to the Beauty Department while the makeup team fuss over her. And inside the town car too. She’s alone there, much to her disappointment. Apparently, Regina always arrives _fashionably late._

Gazing at the American Museum of Natural History in admiration, Emma takes a deep breath and smooths down the silken fabric of her dress. She thanks the chauffeur and opens the door, stepping out in four-inch heels Jefferson had said would “make her legs seem endless.”

There is a never-ending parade of people, photographers and reporters. The guests’ clothes are based on a black and white theme, so the evening gown Jefferson lent to her is completely black, matching Lena’s and Regina’s. All three are wearing Valentino gowns. Emma had expected the excitement of wearing designer clothes to fade over time, but it hasn’t.

When Jefferson spots her and winks, despite the fact that he’s giving an interview to one of those famous TV networks, she feels a thrill inside her belly.

 _This is the real deal,_ she thinks, staring at the huge banner above the museum’s entrance that reads, _‘Runway Celebrates the Age of Fashion’._ It all makes sense now — why it is so important to Regina that the assistants know the guest list for the event. Regina is the host. Like hell she would admit to not knowing some pompous celebrity name.

She approaches the stairs, maintaining a regal bearing as Jefferson had instructed. _Slowly, Emma. I can’t fall down and become useless to Regina._

[SQ]

In one of their walks around the huge lobby where the benefit is already in full swing, Lena tells her they will _know_ when Regina arrives. The atmosphere will change noticeably. The attention of any crowd is captured when Regina makes her entrance. It will be glorious.

And yes, it is.

Regina walks down the stairs, the soft material of her evening gown flowing around her. Her flawless olive skin is on display thanks to the low décolletage. Regina’s grace is accentuated by her perfect posture and rehearsed smile.

“Wow,” Emma says to no one in particular.

“It’s… amazing.” Lena says, teary-eyed.

Regina meets their eyes and subtly motions for them to follow her. It’s time to greet the guests.

[SQ]

Emma is bored. All they’ve done is stand behind Regina and wait for guests to file up to them. Regina doesn't know most of the people by name, so Lena is whispering them to her. When will it be Emma’s turn? Did she study the binders for nothing?

The guests are drinking expensive champagne, and she can't do that because she’s pretending to be a bodyguard or… a statue? behind Regina. She wants to eat the food! The waiters are going around with canapés and what she quite positively believes is mini-potatoes with cheese. Is this _Runway’s_ version of torture? Why is she here if Lena is doing all the work?

“That’s Robert Sanders, the new creative director of the Times,” Lena whispers in Regina’s ear before taking a step back.

See! She isn't needed here.

While Regina greets the fancy man, Emma turns to Lena and says through gritted teeth, “How long before I can eat? I’m _starving.”_

“I don't care,” Lena hisses. “Do your job. And stop fidgeting.” She finds that she hates Lena all over again whenever she’s inconsiderate like this. As if they’re back to her interview day.

Emma gives another cursory glance around the museum to try and entertain herself, she spots a tall, classy woman coming in their direction, on the arm of Mr. Gold. He’s leaning on a different, fancier cane for the event. Emma wouldn’t be surprised if those are real diamonds encrusted at the handle.

“Lena,” Emma whispers. “Isn’t that Fiona Fayette...from French Runway?”

“Oh my god. Regina _hates_ her. If I recall correctly, she was supposed to arrive after Regina left.”

They aren’t able to continue discussing the woman’s appearance, because Fiona and Robert Gold cut in to greet Regina.

“Regina. Lovely event as always,” Mr. Gold quips, grasping Regina’s hand in his.

“I see you brought Fiona.” Regina’s voice hasn’t slipped into those husky tones meant to intimidate, yet. The niceties between all three are so forced Emma has to plaster on a smile to avoid doing something she might regret. If Regina isn’t happy, Emma won’t be, simple as that.

 _“Surprise,”_ Fiona drawls in French, staring haughtily at Regina.

Regina and Fiona perform the air-kissing that is practically mandatory at these events.

“ _Quelle surprise!_ ” Regina says once they’ve separated, chuckling. It’s not a pleasant sound. Emma wonders if she’s the only one who’s picked up on the tenseness of Regina’s shoulders, or the way one of her hands is playing with the fabric of the gown in an attempt to keep her thoughts busy. It’s a tactic she’s seen Regina use numerous times — she busies herself with something else to avoid lashing out. The carefully disguised contempt is there, though. “We’re _so_ happy you’ve joined us at our little gathering.” Regina’s tone is too sickly sweet to be considered sincere.

“Of course,” Fiona says, her French accent overly apparent. “I plan my whole year around this.”

[SQ]

People would be surprised if they knew Regina prefers to stay at home. The press only gets to see a small part of who she is — the part she lets them see. There is something so relaxing about spending her weekends with her little prince doing nothing but drawing, playing games, watching movies all day or cooking. Alas, she can never find the time for it.

Standing here and listening to these people pay her false compliments behind hidden agendas is extremely tiring. She hasn’t even had the time to properly see Emma in her dress — it’s magnificent the way the Valentino gown fits her. Well, this Benefit is a necessary evil to further the magazine’s alliances. Once you’ve seen _Fiona Fayette_ your spirits tend to drop significantly.

“Lena?” she turns her head slightly to wait for Lena’s whisper when a man waves at her and starts coming in their direction. She has no idea who he is.

From the corner of her eye Regina sees Lena spot the man and his company, but no answer is forthcoming. _“Lena,”_ she hisses.

“Oh my god. I know...it’s… Oh my god, it starts with…”

Suddenly, Emma’s presence is on her other shoulder. A shiver travels along her spine when Emma’s warm breath blows in her ear. “That’s Ambassador Franklin and his wife, Rebecca,” she whispers.

“Rebecca, lovely to see you. Ambassador,” Regina greets, perfect smile in place.

Of course Emma would save the day. _My savior,_ she thinks, and is surprised to realize she means it. _What’s happening to me?_

[SQ]

One week after the Benefit, Regina comes home and almost kicks off her shoes in the middle of the foyer. Her feet are killing her! She’d had business all over Manhattan today. There were arrangements and manipulations to oversee, a new designer collection to evaluate, a board meeting and a mess of a run-through to endure.

To make matters worse, she had to deal with _Fiona_. She despises Fiona. The meeting she had with her was worth the pain, however, since it was the only way to ensure Regina’s plan gets put into motion. Who does Mr. Gold think he is, trying to go behind her back to remove her from _Runway?_ No, it will not do.

She’s not ready to give up her job and won’t be for many years to come. After Henry, _Runway_ is her greatest love. She salvaged the magazine when everyone thought the ship had already begun sinking. She has built an empire, the number one fashion magazine around the world, and they expect her to bow down, without a fight?

Regina scoffs, sitting in the armchair and finds herself reflecting on how this piece of furniture has signified _change_ before. Less than a month ago, Emma had asked to watch Henry for the evening while she sat in this very chair. Since then, her son has not stopped talking about the ‘awesome assistant’ who is awful at video game but can do jigsaw puzzles like nobody else.

What she’s doing next will probably _change_ the dynamics inside the office drastically, as it means Lena’s and Emma’s jobs will be inverted. However, Emma deserves this. Her competence and attention to detail make her an insanely good assistant. And it’s what makes Regina not hesitate to swap the responsibilities.

The familiar sound of Emma quietly closing the closet’s door and coming in the direction of the table gives her a few minutes to gather herself. Why is she nervous? Emma will not refuse the opportunity. But what if she does? Regina will not allow it, simple as that.

[SQ]

Emma is sure she’s been silent for a long time when Regina prompts, “Well?”

“I…no…um… Regina,” she tries to organize her thoughts. This is so sudden! How can she decide this right now? What about… Lena? “Lena would die!” she exclaims, realizing what Regina meant when she said, _I need the best team with me. And that no longer includes Lena._

Regina is not even looking at her, she’s flipping through the Book’s pages. It makes her blood boil. Paris? What is Regina thinking? She can’t go to Paris…right? She’s not suited for Paris. Lena has been preparing for months.

“Regina, I… I can’t. Her whole _life_ is about Paris. I can’t do this to her.”

“If you do not wish to go, I’ll assume you’re not serious about your job. About your future…” Regina finally glances up, staring right into her eyes. “The decision is yours.”

Emma gapes at the woman in front of her, trying to ascertain whether she’s heard right — her job at _Runway_ will be compromised if she doesn’t go to Paris.

“I didn’t say that.” The words fall from her lips before she can assess the situation further.

Regina’s eyes glint with triumph, her elbow poised along the arm of the chair, thumb playing with her fingernails in an hypnotic dance. “You have two months to tell Lena the news.”

Emma nearly chokes on her saliva. _I’ll have to tell her?_

“That’s all,” Regina says, blinking owlishly and resting her cheek against her fingertips. It makes Emma want to throttle her or do something nonsensical like kiss the hell out of her to erase the silly smirk from her face. The thought frightens her, more than the proposition did, so with shaky and unsteady legs, she walks from the sitting room and away from Regina.

The way Regina’d said it... _That’s all,_ with that condescending tone that had been nonexistent of late, causes her throat to dry, and her eyes to fill with tears. Emma can’t lose Regina now. Not when their working relationship has improved so much during the past couple of months. Not when she hasn’t been able to understand these confusing feelings yet. No, she can’t lose her. Consequently, she knows why her answer wouldn’t be anything but ‘Yes’.

But what to do about Lena? Emma places her head in her hands, taking deep breaths. _She’ll be devastated,_ Emma thinks miserably. While she waits for Sidney to pick her up, she ponders Regina’s offer and decides there must be a _reason_ for it. ‘I need the best team with me.’ Emma’s included in the _best_ team now. She shouldn’t be selling herself short then, despite knowing her tentative friendship with Lena will be crushed as soon as Emma finds the courage to utter she’s going to Paris instead.


	7. august 2006

Since the start of the month, Henry has told her the date of his birthday four times. Therefore, when August 15th arrives, Emma is ready — on top of the dry cleaning and the Book, she carries a flat rectangle-shaped package she wrapped by herself. (She never said she’s good at it, but it was wrapped with love).  _Love_ , yes — she doesn’t know how it happened, but that wonderful kid wormed his way into her heart.

It wasn’t difficult to choose a gift. However, as she hears Henry coming down the stairs right when she shuts the closet’s door, she’s jittery with nerves. What if he doesn’t like it? She almost spent all of this month’s salary to buy the present.

“Emma!” His grin is infectious — his presence enough to calm her down. He will like it, right? She knows him enough to know his tastes and preferences.

“Hey kid!” she exclaims, holding the Book with one hand and the package with the other. “Let me just set this down,” she says, referring to the Book.

Later, the way he holds the metal briefcase in awe will be a sight to treasure for many years to come. In its front, she attached a small happy birthday card which he reads and laughs and laughs about because "Emma, you’re so silly."

“Come with me, let’s open it together!”

She follows him to the living room, a fluttery feeling in her stomach. They sit down on the sofa, and she starts to bounce her knee. “I hope you like it, Henry,” she breathes, rubbing the back of her neck.

He sets the flat metal box on the coffee table and carefully opens it, gasping softly at what he encounters inside. “Wow. Is this for real?” he asks in disbelief, his eyes wide and glowing. He turns his head to look directly at her. “You didn't have to!”

“I know, kid, but I wanted to.” She grins, breathing a sigh of relief when he falls back against the couch in joyful laughter. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah! This is awesome!” he pronounces, and Emma watches as he starts to inspect the collection of color pencils, oil pastels, paint brushes, pencils and other art supplies neatly organized inside the briefcase. “I love it, look at this! All these colors and...”

A warm feeling spreads all over her body as she listens to him detail the items, one by one. Henry sounds so genuine she can't help believing he truly loves his gift. Who knew she’d be able to give something to the boy who seems to already have everything?

Then, when he finally stops talking, he throws his arms around her, loosely at first, not knowing how she’ll react.

“Thank you, Emma,” he mumbles against her chest, and she squeezes him tighter for it, closing her eyes to welcome the comforting sensation.

[SQ]

“Henry! We’ll be late for dinner if you don't get ready now. Henry?” Regina sees the lights on in the living room and enters to find her little prince — not so little anymore, her mind supplies glumly — sprawled on the couch. She raises an eyebrow and places a hand on her hip, watching him from the threshold for a minute. His happiness is almost palpable in the air, etched into every line of his young face. It’s a lovely sight.

What caused it, though?

She steps inside, pausing at the back of the couch and leaning forward to perch her hands on his shoulders gently. “Want to tell me what’s got your tongue, sweetheart?” He tilts his head to look at her upside down, his green eyes sparkling. Amused, she leans forward to face him directly, brushing her nose against his playfully. He giggles, and the sound is a sweet melody to her heart.

“My _awesome_ gift!” he says in a bubbly tone.

_Gift? I haven’t given mine yet, unless he found it somehow._

Something catches her eye, and she straightens up to see what it is. “From whom?” There’s a card with a red balloon and ‘Happy Birthday’ written in capital letters next to a wide variety of art supplies inside a briefcase on top of the coffee table. Henry follows her gaze and finally moves from his slumped position to pat at the seat next to him. Rounding the sofa, she sits down, crossing her legs primly.

“Emma,” he answers, beaming at her.

She quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. Emma bought him a present? But why? She blinks when Henry shoves the card in her direction. Before opening it, she runs her fingers through his hair, stopping to cup his cheek — she does not know how she was able to create such a perfect boy. It seemed like yesterday he was this tiny little baby, and now she looks at him and marvels at how much he has grown, looking like Daniel more and more every day. Her eyes are suddenly moist. Happy tears? Sorrowful? A mixture of both, she decides.

Henry’s face falls, his eyes full of concern. “What, Mom?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “You’re growing up so fast, that’s all,” she teases, trying to lighten the mood.

“Moooom,” he groans, but the corner of his lips are upturned, belying his discontentment. “Read it!”

“Okay, okay,” Regina appeases, chuckling. She finally opens the card, and Emma’s characteristic chicken-scratch handwriting is what she finds.

 

 

 

> **_From: the worst player of video games_ **
> 
> **_To: Henry, the best kid ever._ **
> 
> **_Happy Birthday, kid!_ **
> 
> **_I hope you have an amazing day._ **
> 
> **_Can’t wait to see what you draw next!_ **
> 
> **_Love,_ **
> 
> **_Emma_ **

 

“Look, Mom!” Henry exclaims, pushing the open briefcase in her direction, and Regina struggles to keep up with his enthusiasm. “I won’t have to use your things now! Look at all these pencils and paints and brushes and—”

“Henry! Henry, calm down. Breathe,” she interrupts him, chuckling heartily. “How about we get ready for dinner, and I promise to go over these with you right afterwards.”

“Okay.”

[SQ]

During dinner, Robin gives Henry two-hundred dollars and tells him to spend it on whatever he wishes.

It’s impossible not to compare his gift with Emma’s.

Regina is not be able to put into words how much she’s touched by Emma’s gesture. Seeing Henry this happy again fills her heart with joy. It’s as if Emma read her mind — Regina gifted him a sketchbook for which she designed the cover, so now he has a full set of his own supplies to evolve his artistic abilities.

Emma continues to surprise her. Regina usually hates surprises.

She finds she does not mind them when they come from her Em— _assistant._

[SQ]

Emma's procrastinated the whole month and now she glances at the computer’s calendar with no small amount of dread. **_August 25th_** , it says. Emma has less than a month to tell Lena. How do you even broach the subject? How do you crush someone’s dreams in the blink of an eye? ‘Oh, Lena, by the way, Regina said you won’t be going to Paris. I will, instead.’ Yeah, like that will work.

She furrows her brows trying to recall where Lena might be right now. Emma has noticed that, little by little, the ‘running errands’ part of her job has become part of Lena’s. Perhaps in preparation for Paris? Emma definitely misses walking through Madison Avenue to get Regina’s Hermès scarves nearly every week. Instead of the thrill of doing those activities, she’s chained to the desk until Lena returns.

And that reminds Emma she has to inform Lena about the change of plans, and soon.

Printing the schedule for the day, she attaches it to a clipboard. Just as she turns to sit again, Regina pushes the glass door open, still wearing her sunglasses. Her boss hesitates between the two desks before seemingly coming to a decision — she throws her coat and bag on top of Lena’s desk and briskly moves into her office, not giving Emma a second glance. Emma’s eyes widen. _What does this mean?_

“Emma.” She hears Regina call a few moments later, so she grabs her Moleskine and pencil, walks around her desk and steps into the bright office.

Regina is at her desk, her fingers brushing through the competitors’ magazines as if she’s not quite sure which one to dissect first. She slowly looks up as Emma stops at a safe distance from her desk.

“Yes, Regina?”

“Has Lena returned with my order?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, tell her to hurry up, and don’t forget about Paris.” Regina chooses the _Vogue_ magazine from the pile. “Do it now,” she adds, voice clipped.

Emma gulps and runs a hand through her hair. _Now?_ _What do you mean, now?_ “O-okay.”

But nothing is okay. Especially when, five seconds later, the phone rings.

[SQ]

Inside the Lenox Hill Hospital, Emma counts to ten and exhales sharply, fists tightly clenched for a moment. Hospitals make her fidgety and nervous. Back in Storybrooke, she and her family visited Grandma Ruth every day until she passed away. Since then, there’s something about sterile pastel-colored walls and a blur of white coats which contribute to a very unpleasant sensation inside her chest.

She enters the door numbered 205 to find Lena dressed in a blue hospital gown and propped up in bed. Doing a quick scan of the situation, Emma can see Lena’s leg held by a cast, and when Lena turns her head, a nasty bruise on her cheekbone becomes visible. Her hair is matted against the pillow and it makes Emma wince. She knows how much Lena loves having shiny curls.

Crossing the room, Emma poises herself at the windowsill, trying to figure out what to say. Should she lie, say Lena can’t go now, not like this? No, she’s terrible at it. And she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

“I didn’t look where I was going, carrying all those bags and…” Lena’s voice cracks while she tries to disentangle the knots on her hair. “Everything went flying… all those scarves! Regina is going to kill me.”

“No, Lena, that’s not true—”

“Oh my god, Paris! What am I going to do,” Lena breaks in, ignoring Emma’s presence entirely. She buries her face in her hands and sniffles. Emma feels powerless; the words stuck in her throat prevent her from attempting to comfort the woman.

Then, Lena scoffs. “My god.” She lifts her head, rolling her eyes. “I need to bloody calm down.” Of course she admonishes herself for having a slight breakdown — and this after getting hit by a car. _It’s Lena we’re talking about._

A few minutes pass without either of them saying anything. Emma is racking her brain for a way to broach the topic at hand, and Lena, well, who knows what’s going on inside her head.

“September 23rd…hmm, my leg will be fine by then,” Lena muses out loud. “There’s no need to panic.”

Emma clears her throat. “About that…” she trails off, biting her lip.

“What is it?” The guilty expression upon Emma’s face must be evident, as Lena’s frown suggests. “Stop that—.” Lena motions with her hand in Emma’s general direction. “Stop shilly-shallying and just tell me what’s happened. It’s excruciating to watch.”

“Regina is taking me to Paris,” she blurts out. _Well, there goes tact._

“What?” Lena’s confusion deepens, and her eyes dart around Emma’s face as if she’ll spot the lie there. “Why would she need two assistants?”

“She—” Emma’s voice cracks. She closes her eyes and takes a calming breath when the desire to flee rears its ugly head. There’s no use delaying the inevitable. “She doesn’t. I’m going to Paris...instead of you,” she says as steadily as possible, despite her heart palpitating like hell.

“She… she doesn’t?” Lena’s question is most certainly rhetorical, so Emma remains silent, the feeling of guilt escalating to whole different levels. Her insides twist as Lena’s mouth opens in shock — it seems she finally grasps what’s happening, what this _means_ for her, for them. Her co-worker pinches the bridge of her nose, looking away. The movement is slow. Letting her hand heavily drop upon the stiff mattress, she suddenly turns to glare at Emma. “You _knew.”_

“I-I didn’t… I didn’t have a choice! She was going to fire me,” Emma proclaims, ignoring Lena’s spot-on assessment.

“I don’t care, you should have said no! You don’t even— I can’t believe… The worst part of all this is that you’ve been… For all I know, you probably lied the whole time. ‘Oh, hi, I’m Emma Swan, I don’t care about fashion, I want to be a journalist,’” she mocks, poorly imitating Emma with a high-pitched tone. Then, she lets out a bark of laughter with an edge so sharp Emma winces as if cut. “It’s so unfair…”

“Lena…”

“Don’t.” She says, staring at the ceiling now, apparently refusing to look directly at Emma with her watery eyes. “Just go away.”

[SQ]

Every day seemed like the wrong moment, especially when Emma takes into consideration what happened the last time she said, “I’m going to Paris.”

At first, as soon as Regina had told her, she'd been too stressed to even think about telling anyone else. Her parents, as soon as she found the courage, were the first to know. They’d been happy for her, despite her worries, and asked if she had given up journalism. “Of course not, Dad! I’m going to meet writers and editors, as I told you when you two visited. Well, I told you that Lena was going, but… it’s an amazing opportunity,” she’d told them. That had been the end of the conversation.

Telling Lena like she did wasn’t in her plans, obviously. Regina suddenly demanding she do just that, plus the accident, placed a deadline upon her shoulders. Now, a weight has lifted from her mind about not telling anyone else, and she has to admit she’s getting excited for the trip.

[SQ]

During her lunch break, she calls August and he sounds even more ecstatic than she feels. “You’re going to Paris for the fashion shows?”

Emma nods enthusiastically, before realizing he can’t see her. “Yep!”

“That’s… oh wow. That’s amazing, Emma.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Who are you going to see? Lagerfeld? Galliano?”

“Yes and yes. Oh, Valentino. And everyone else.” He sighs dreamily over the line. What the hell. “Okay, now you’re scaring me,” she chuckles.

“It’s just...awesome.”

“Yeah, I know.” She beams.

[SQ]

Lily is next, and it doesn’t go well. At all.

“I haven’t seen you in what...two months, three now? Suddenly _fashion_ and _couture,_ ” Lily spits those words out as if they disgust her, “became more important than your childhood friends. Does Neal even know? He didn’t mention anything the last time I went out with him and August.”

“Hey, you’re making a big deal out of noth—”

“This person you’ve become…” Lily breaks in, “I don’t get her. I really don’t.”

_What?_

“Lily! What the hell.” This is not her friend… Why is she mad? For the first time, things are looking up, and instead of being happy for her, Lily is arguing?

And why does everybody say they don’t recognize her anymore?

“Have fun in Paris,” Lily declares, disconnecting the line.

[SQ]

“Hey, Neal, I’m home,” Emma says, closing the door behind her. She approaches the couch, where he’s watching TV. “I need to talk to you about something…”

He takes the remote control and turns off the TV, frowning as Emma’s flickering smile greets him. “So… you’re going to Paris.”

 _Wait, how does he…_ She drops beside him on the couch. “Yeah, um… How did you know?”

He lets the remote clatter loudly against the coffee table. “Lily told me, but that doesn’t matter…” With a contrite shake of his head, he closes his eyes briefly and runs a hand through his hair. “What matters is that I thought this was important for Lena, not you.”

She blinks back tears. “Are you gonna give me a hard-time too?”

“What the hell, Emma, I don’t get you anymore.”

“ _What the hell?”_ she repeats. She gets up, pacing back and forth. He gets up too and that’s when she stops, close to him, close enough to defend herself. “I didn’t have a choice, Neal! She asked me to go and—”

“Of course you didn’t have a choice! You never do, there. You can’t choose for yourself—”

“You _hate_ Runway. You think fashion is stupid. And…” She clenches her hands into fists. “You hate _Regina._ ”

“Why does it matter?” _Regina._ “What happened along the way, Emma? You used to say this was just a job. That those Runway girls were ridiculous!” He crosses his arms. “You’re one of them now.”

“That’s…” she trails off, looking away. She can’t admit the truth to herself, so why admit it to him?

“Fine. That’s fine,” he completes for her, “if you own up to it. Then, maybe we can stop pretending like we have anything in common anymore. We haven’t had time for our relationship.”

“I’m… I’ve made a choice. A choice I think is the right one.” _I’m choosing my own path. My own… happiness. And right now, that will be accomplished elsewhere in the world._

“Well…” he starts, eyes cold and hard like she’s never seen before. It’s then she knows this cannot be salvaged. Not anymore. “Maybe this trip is coming at a good time then.”

Her lip quivers, but she won’t cry now. She won’t. “Yeah, maybe it is,” she whispers.

They stare at each other, refusing to back down. That is, until the shrill tone of her T-Mobile alerts her to a new message. She’s never hated it this much until now.

“See! In case you didn’t know, the person whose calls you always take, that’s the relationship you’re in,” he says, striding to their bedroom. “I hope you and your boss are very happy together!” he shouts from there.

Her mouth opens in shock, and her hands feel clammy. What did he just say?


	8. september 2006

She has given half of the day off to her employees. This will enable them to prepare for the trip tomorrow morning.

So Regina arrives home earlier — much earlier than expected.

What she sees once she has walked up the steps from the foyer makes her drop her purse on the floor with a resounding bang. “No…” she mutters with venom.

He did not do this. In the middle of the afternoon. “Enough of this,” she says to herself.

She grabs the cheap frilly bra from the floor, removes her stilettos and runs up the stairs in her stocking-clad feet.

“ _Robin!_ ” she growls, entering the bedroom and not finding him anywhere. That’s when the sound of the shower running cuts through her anger and she practically kicks the en suite’s bathroom door open. With his back to her, showering (thankfully alone, a small voice supplies) he hasn’t heard her, and doesn’t until she shouts his name again.

“Regina? What are you…” he turns the shower off when he glimpses what she’s holding tightly on her hand. “I-I can explain…”

He only has the time to leave the shower stall and put a towel around his midsection before she throws the bra at his face, saying, “Save it.”

“Regina…” He sighs, as if she’s being difficult. As if… As if it’s her fault.

“Who is it.”

“What?”

“ _Who is it._ ”

He stares right into her eyes when he answers it. “Marian.”

“The _secretary_ ,” she says, practically spitting it out like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. Her eyes strangely fill with water, but these are tears that will not be shed in his presence. Will not be shed at all. _Don’t be silly, Regina. The Mills women don’t cry, especially not over boys._ The memory of _when_ these words were said to her sobers her up enough to push aside her wayward emotions. Be rational. “We’ll talk about this after Paris. Just know that it’s one thing to have an… an _affair._  Another thing entirely is to do it inside the house when…” She rubs her temples. “I sincerely hope you didn’t do it with Henry present.”

“No, of course not, Regina! I would never do— He’s just a boy!”

“We’ll talk about this after Paris,” she reiterates.

Why, why this, why now? She swallows thickly when the word _divorce_ appears suddenly inside her head. She pushes it off with a vengeance.

[SQ]

“ _Hi Emma! Are you excited for tomorrow?”_

“Hey Mom...” Emma sniffles, finally lying in bed after a long day of preparations for the most important week of the year.

_“What happened, sweetie?”_

“Nothing, I just…” _Lena’s given me the cold shoulder since the month started, Neal is staying somewhere else and Lily is on his side._  “I miss you guys, that’s all,” she says, not wanting to burden her mom with her problems, lest she get more worried about _her baby going to the other side of the ocean._

“ _Oh honey… We miss you too! But everything is going to be all right.”_

Emma turns on her side, the phone pressed tightly to her ear. “How can you be so sure?”

“ _I have a feeling. Trust Mom.”_ Emma rolls her eyes, but smiles at her mother’s words. _“You’re going to Paris!”_

 _Forget about Neal! I'm going to Paris!_ She chuckles, but it morphs into a tired yawn. “You're right… Oh. Tell Dad I love him.” Mary Margaret hums, so Emma continues. “Thanks Mom. Love you!”

“ _Love you too. You should go to bed now, you sound tired, honey. The flight is early tomorrow, right?”_

“Yeah. I’m almost falling asleep already, so that won’t be a problem.”

“ _Okay. Have a safe trip and texts us as soon as you land._ _Good night, Emma._ ”

“Good night, Mom.”

[SQ]

“The schedule for the week?” Regina asks once the plane has left the ground, and they are permitted to remove their seat belts.

Emma’s never seen Regina this tired. She can tell her boss is wearing makeup under her eyes in an attempt to cover it. Her hands are clenched in tight fists on the armrests. It’s a scary sight. Regina’s never seemed this tired or stressed before. Something must have happened, Emma concludes.

“Right. One second.” She picks up the itinerary she typed, printed and stapled last week.

Regina leans over to her seat, analyzing her paper with sharp eyes. “Tomorrow is the annual breakfast with the editors of other _Runway_ magazines. As soon as we land, remind me to give you the binder with their names and details.”

Emma nods while thinking that it’s going to be a walk in the park memorizing fifteen names (give or take), considering the amount she memorized for the Benefit.

“After three o’clock you’ll have time to… walk around the city or whatever it is you want to do,” Regina tells her, waving her hand like she doesn’t care. “I have last minute changes to apply to the Book. I will need you to send those changes to our office at seven pm sharp...”

Oh, is this why Regina is lacking her usual bite? Emma knows the October issue is to be printed on September 29th, but she thought everything was okay with it.

Emma tunes in to hear Regina say, “...the rest of the week should follow the schedule you already have,” while pointing with a perfectly manicured fingernail to the September 25th headline. A weird thought about how smooth Regina’s hand seems to be pops up, but she brushes it off. _I guess I’m tired too._ “Walk me through today’s itinerary,” Regina prompts, while leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes.

Yes, something definitely happened. Is everything alright with her? With Henry?

This must be a test of some sort, so Emma proceeds as if nothing out of ordinary is happening. “There’s the Marc Jacobs show tonight at 7, and you have the after party later. Fifteen minutes are scheduled for it.”

Regina hums, and Emma takes it as a sign to continue.

“Then there’s dinner with Maya, and nothing else here. Tomorrow is the breakfast at the Ritz, followed by the Donna Karan show...” She looks briefly to the side and has to do a double-take. Regina’s eyes are still closed, and her facial expression is free of stress marks, unlike a few minutes before.

Regina is sleeping. Emma stares, entranced. She looks so _peaceful_. Her dark, crimson lips are slightly open, and Emma zeroes in on a detail she somehow missed before: there on her upper lip is the vague impression of a scar, softened by makeup. It doesn’t do anything to diminish her boss’s astonishing beauty.

She takes it all in and commits the image to memory, because why not.

“Sweet dreams, Regina,” she breathes.

 _Hmm,_ she thinks while searching inside her handbag, _might as well do some reading with the spare time._

[SQ]

 _Oh my god, Paris is insane!_ Emma thinks inside the car taking her and Regina to Marc Jacobs’ show. The Eiffel Tower, which she sees from afar, during the nighttime is full of purple sparkling lights. It's hypnotizing. She has to stop herself from gluing her face to the window glass like a little kid.

She alternates between grinning like a fool at the sights outside and watching surreptitiously from the corner of her eyes to see if Regina will show any reaction to what they’re seeing. So far, her boss has only taken a pair of reading glasses from her handbag and busied herself with some photos from the color blocking shoot they did a few days ago.

Doesn’t Regina find it amazing? It’s no wonder Paris is called ‘ _La Ville-Lumière_ ’ (yes, Emma is fluent in French, one of her biggest accomplishments). The Arc de Triomphe!

“ _Le Palais de Justice_ …” she murmurs to herself.

“Hmm?”

Oh. She spoke too loud.

“Sorry, I was… Um, nevermind.” Can Emma jump out of the vehicle? Why does she always make a fool of herself in Regina’s presence?

“Your accent…” Regina peers over the top of her glasses. “Do you speak French, Emma?”

 _“Oui,”_ she quips and almost slaps herself.

_What the hell am I doing._

To her surprise, the corner of Regina’s lip pulls up, and that’s the end of the conversation.

[SQ]

The week is passing in a crazy whirlwind of catwalks, flashes and demands. Then there are the dresses. Blouses. Pants, skirts, shoes, accessories… From the moment she wakes up in _Plaza Athenée,_ the most luxurious hotel she’s even been in, to the moment she falls headfirst onto her pillow, Emma’s day consists of fashion.

 _A million girls would kill for this job_.

Sure, being in Paris is a dream come true, but… does she fit the category? What about journalism? Does she live and breathe fashion now?

The shows aren’t boring as she’d thought they’d be. They are uniquely fascinating. Emma can’t find mistakes in any of them, but Regina analyzes with a critical (and experienced) eye and nods or tilts her head or purses her lips and everyone is watching her (and Emma, by association) _all the time._ Regina’s the face of international fashion, they say. Paparazzi spot her and she’s the center of their attention for as long as possible.

Emma can’t take the flashes, but Regina, she… fits. She embraces everything. Answers ridiculous questions at quick interviews after shows. And does it all without faltering. Not once.

The best part is the food, of course. Neal would love it here, she thinks sadly. On every corner there are stands, open-air stands of many different types. Restaurants, bistros, cafés. The _chocolatiers_ are to die for, just the smell is enough to make her lick her lips. The croissants are divine. It’s possible she has fallen in love with Paris.

[SQ]

On Thursday, they leave Valentino’s show and go backstage to speak to him. What Regina says makes Emma buzz with energy.

“Regina! How are you? So glad to see you. Thank you for coming.”

Regina hums, smiling (Emma’s shocked to realize it’s a real one.) “My pleasure.”

“You like the collection?”

“Absolutely, dear. One of the best in years.”

“ _Fantastico!_ This is very important for me.”

Then, Regina turns to her, and introduces her to _Valentino_. “This is _my_ new Lena.”

After a bit of stumbling through her answers to the famous designer, they walk around the vicinity, Regina posing effortlessly for the photographers, and answering questions to reporters again. _Her opinion is the only one that matters,_ Jefferson had told her a few months ago. It’s the truth. People want something from her at every turn.

Regina is caught in an interview so Emma stays back, waiting. Suddenly, a husky voice says her name and she turns to find no other than Killian Jones.

“Emma, love, what a surprise.”

“Yeah,” she answers, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

“I was wondering if your schedule might allow you to accompany me for dinner. Are you working tonight?” he asks, blatantly checking her out.

Should she… oh, why not? She’s single now. A fancy restaurant and the promise of good French food doesn't have to mean anything. “No, actually... Regina has a dinner to attend.”

“You’re free then, great. What time should I pick you up?”

Emma watches as Regina and the rest of the Runway team start walking away. “Uh… Here’s my card,” she says, handing him her number.

“I’ll call you then.”

[SQ]

Regina had just gotten out of the shower when she heard a knock at the door. Covering herself with a robe, she fastened the belt around her waist as she walked barefoot to the foyer. She opened the hotel suite door and a bellman handed her an envelope. With sure hands, she managed to take the papers out. Stark, white papers. Her lips turned downward as she quickly skimmed through the document. Divorce papers.

Apparently, her soon-to-be ex-husband was eager to file for a divorce, even though he _knows_ he’s as much at fault as her. Now she has dropped rather ungracefully onto the settee in the living room, still trying to make sense of the words printed before her. He’s done this on purpose. Just to spite her. She pulls the robe a little tighter across her chest. Tears are falling unbidden; tears she shouldn’t, she told herself she _wouldn’t_ shed for him.

The tabloids never show what happens on the other side. The human side. The side where mutual respect morphs into cold and bitter resentment, where angry, mocking words substitute the caring aspects of the relationship, where _differences_ are nothing but another definition for irreconcilable discrepancies.

The urge to crumple, shred, burn the papers; do anything other than submit herself to reading the whole thing, all sound like fantastic ideas. It’s humiliating.

 

**_“Also known as a conversion divorce, it is necessary to satisfy two elements: valid separation agreement; parties substantially comply with its terms._ **

**_The statute requires substantial compliance with the agreement._ **

**_Live apart for more than one year._ **

**_Living Apart Pursuant to a separation agreement for one year [...] obtain a divorce in New York without either party being at fault.”_ **

 

According to New York law, they can’t officially file for divorce until at least a year has passed. It is antiquated: irreconcilable differences will not end a marriage. No-fault divorces simply do not exist.

Surely, he must know she is going to contest his solicitation with the… _infidelity_. The word causes a fresh wave of tears to fall, so she throws the papers unceremoniously on top of the little table and goes in search of her tissues. And her reading glasses.

The tears are not necessarily _for_ Robin. For months now she hasn’t missed him. The marriage, after all, had been based on convenience more than anything else. The tears are for having failed, yet again. Another disappointment, another personal failure. It’s certainly hard to stomach, especially while she’s attempting to administer her counterattack against Robert Gold, Killian Jones and many others trying to usurp her throne tomorrow.

Is it beyond common courtesy for Robin to tell her _in New York_ he wants a divorce? Not here. _Not in Paris._

Falling back against the stiff piece of furniture, she is about to pick up the papers again when she sees the tip of another paper coming out of the envelope.

This one she later burns. In it, he tells her he simply does not _care_ she will charge him for adultery. He will even admit to it. Because the thought of spending another moment in the townhouse, with her, is something he cannot handle. He calls her _an ungrateful bitch, control-freak,_ among other colorful _epithets_.

Regina is mature enough to know she has control issues. Her abrasive personality wins her few to no friends, and she has long since given up on romantic love. That door had closed after Daniel’s death. And no flutters and skipping beats of the heart will change that; because who would love a frigid soul like hers?

[SQ]

Emma checks her reflection in the mirror, searching for the girl who, on her interview day, attempted to tame her sorry excuse for a haircut and wore no makeup. Touching up her red lipstick with precise movements, Emma almost snorts. Now, she spends over half an hour every morning putting on makeup and choosing designer clothes to play her part as a Runway assistant and, mainly, as someone worthy of Regina’s time.

Picking up the packages for Regina, she head to her boss’ suite. Upon arrival, Emma knocks, but there’s no answer. Frowning, she uses the key card she was given for Regina’s suite and lets herself in.

She places the boxes on a dresser close to the door and stops short in the doorway of the suite’s living room. Beyond shocked at the sight of… someone who looks like Regina, but… it’s not? It’s not _Runway’s_ editor-in-chief, she realizes with a start. This is a woman she’s never seen before, sitting on the settee, face free of makeup, hair damp and slightly curly, barefoot and wearing only a gray robe. No beautiful, expensive clothes, only, perhaps, a distraught woman. Her eyes are red from crying and her expression… it tugs on Emma’s heartstrings. This is a glimpse of the… _real Regina._ The woman behind the mask.

“There you are,” Regina says, her voice huskier than usual, choked with tears. She’s toying with her reading glasses and avoiding visual contact. “We need to go over the seating chart for the luncheon.”

Emma ignores what she’s seeing, certain Regina won’t want to talk until she’s ready. “Yeah, sure. I have it with me, just a sec.” She rummages for the chart in her bag, setting the latter on the armchair opposite the settee Regina’s at. Once she locates the folder, she hands it to Regina, who slips the reading glasses on.

They stay silent as Regina examines the positions of the tables. Emma watches, clearing her throat as softly as possible and opening her mouth a few times as she seemingly gathers her thoughts. Finally, Regina instructs quietly, “We need to move Maya to my table.”

Emma frowns. “Your table’s full, Regina.”

Regina looks up from the chart, but doesn’t quite meet Emma’s eyes again. It’s so uncharacteristic Emma wants to cry. “Robin isn’t coming.”

“Oh.”

Regina’s face hardens slightly. “We need to contact Victoria, to see what she can do to keep it out of New York press, or at least minimize it.” Emma’s confusion must be palpable enough for Regina to see it, for she points at all the papers Emma had failed to see before. “Preliminary divorce papers.”

Emma opens her mouth, but no sound comes out at first. _Regina is getting divorced. What the hell?_

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Regina.” She wants to reach out and… never mind, why would Regina welcome a hug from her?

“It will certainly be splashed across Page Six. I can already picture what they’re going to write about me. Career-obsessed. The Evil Queen drives away Mr. Mills,” she continues, as if Emma hadn’t said anything. “I don’t care what they write about me, not really. But the press has to be minimum… This will be so unfair to Henry…”

Oh my, there’s Henry to take into consideration! The problem gets even more complicated by the minute. Poor Henry. None of them deserve this suffering.

“If you want me to cancel your evening? I can even attend the soiree.”

It’s scary how quick Regina straightens her shoulders and lets the mask of indifference close her off again. “Why would we do that?”

[SQ]

The moment the door closes behind Emma, Regina breathes out shakily, hugging herself as she stares out of the window of her hotel room at the myriad lights of Paris, not really seeing anything.

She does not know what’s worse: the divorce looming ahead, the way Jefferson will be affected tomorrow or the fact that Emma saw her like this.

What will the divorce mean for Henry? Will he be disappointed?

Will Jefferson ever forgive her for what she must do tomorrow?

Why hasn’t Emma run away after seeing her sans make-up, sans her persona?

For the first time, Regina cannot answer her questions.

[SQ]

Emma’s almost had enough. The restaurant is absolutely gorgeous, the food is _magnifique,_ the wine is expensive, but the company, well… it’s clear after a few minutes that they don’t agree on a few matters.

“Yeah, true, there are things Regina does that I don’t agree with—”

“You hate the Evil Queen, just admit it to me, Emma,” Killian says matter-of-factly.

“No. And don’t call her—”

“She’s beautiful, yes, but nothing’s worse than her personality.”

Will he ever stop interrupting her? And trash-talking her boss? Her boss, who’s at the soiree despite the divorce papers… She shouldn’t be there.

Emma interrupts him before he continues. “She may be tough, but I imagine being a woman demands her to be ten times better than any of the men to get the recognition she has. If she were a man, actually, no one would notice anything about her… ‘ _personality’_ ,” she marks her words with air quotes, “except how great she is at her job.”

He has the audacity to chuckle, the irritating man. “I can’t believe this,” he shakes his head condescendingly. “You’re defending her?”

“Yes.” She glances at her watch and remembers _Regina_ , alone at the soiree. She comes to a decision. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s a call I must make.”

Without hearing his response, she grabs her bag and gets up. Soon enough, she’s outside the restaurant and calling Regina. “Pick up, pick up, pick up…” she whispers to herself.

“Yes?” _Thank god._

“Um… There’s a…” _Come on, Emma, make something up!_ “A problem with the seating chart that requires your immediate attention.”

Regina doesn’t say anything for a few moments, until, “Have the chaffeur pick you up, then meet me at the soiree. That’s all,” falls from her lips and she ends the call.

Emma doesn’t return inside the restaurant.

[SQ]

Regina won’t admit it, but she’s glad Emma called. Forcing a smile for people that no doubt despise her was not something she wanted to be doing. She had regretted her answer to Emma’s question, on cancelling her evening, from the moment she stepped into the soiree.

She enters the car to find Emma inside, wearing heavy makeup and Chanel from head to toe. She looks beautiful.

“Well? What’s the matter with the chart?” she says once the car has started moving.

Emma hesitates, wincing. “I… may have lied?”

“You what?”

“I lied. Wait, hear me out,” Emma hastens to add, before Regina is able to formulate a response. “We can pretend we aren’t…” _Aren’t what, Emma?_ “We can pretend. For the rest of the night. We can walk around Paris, forget about everything. What do you think?”

Regina contemplates the suggestion. How is it that Emma still wants to be by her side? She was a mess.  

“Hmm…” She has nothing to lose. And more of Emma’s presence won’t hurt. “Agreeable, I suppose.”

[SQ]

The chauffeur leaves them at the _Place de la Concorde_ per Emma’s request, “I’ve never been here, would you mind…?” she had asked. Regina was unable to refuse those sparkling green eyes. They stroll side by side in companionable silence. Regina is inexplicably nervous, placing her hands inside the pockets of her black slacks. The incomparable beauty of the historical architecture adds to the romantic atmosphere the City of Lights is known for, and she cannot do anything about it.

“Wow,” Emma breathes as they cross the street and are finally on _l’Avenue des Champs-Élysées._ “This is… just wow.”

Regina can’t stop the small upturn of her lips at Emma’s enthusiasm. “This is certainly beautiful,” she comments.

Emma hums, looking to her right, where _le Jardin des Champs-Élysées_ is, with its variety of preserved nature and historical buildings. “I never imagined I’d get to see this. Books don’t do it justice.”

Drinking in the sight of Emma’s luscious hair, Regina aches for a brush, for an easel, for colors — for anything, to keep her restless fingers from reaching out and running her fingers through Emma’s hair — to attempt to capture the magnificence she is. No paintings will do justice to the moment, though.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Regina blinks, coming face-to-face with Emma, much closer than expected. How long was Emma aware that Regina had been staring? “It’s just, with everything that’s happened… If you need to talk, I’m here.”

The question takes her breath away. When was the last time someone asked her that? Her well-being has never seemed important. No fake smiles. No insincere air kisses. Only Emma, inquiring. Worrying about her.

Regina clears her throat, staring right into Emma’s eyes. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” She scoffs, but then softens her expression. “Thank you for getting me out of there.” She turns her head away, without clarifying her meaning.

“Don’t mention it.” Emma doesn’t say anything for a while after that, until she almost makes Regina jump as she gasps. “Hey! There, do you see? Oh my god, _crepes._ Come on, we gotta try them.”

It’s so… random, Regina snorts. She covers her mouth, a blush tinting her cheeks, but Emma doesn’t seem to notice, too busy walking in the direction of the crepes stand.

“Come on!”

Regina laughs when Emma almost falls in her haste.

[SQ]

Her joyful mood diminishes significantly when, at a certain point, Emma comments on Jefferson’s new job opportunity with Merlin Knight.

“Jefferson sounded so happy about it… Good for him,” Emma says after eating a mouthful of her _crepe_.

Regina almost explains her plans for tomorrow. But she cannot do that.

Should she have warned Jefferson?

There’s an odd feeling brimming in her chest.

She is terrified to realize it is _guilt_.

[SQ]

It goes like this. Emma oversleeps (her alarm clock decides not to work this morning) and what wakes her up is the shrill sound of an incoming call on her T-Mobile.

“Hello?” she says, voice still groggy from sleep. She clears her throat. “Who’s this?”

“ _Bonjour Emma. It’s Killian._ ”

She rolls her eyes. What now? She left him at the restaurant yesterday, so what does he want? “Oh, hi.”

“ _Despite your abrupt departure, I still had important matters to speak to you about._ ”

Running a hand over her face, Emma says, “Okay. What is it?”

“ _I want to offer you a job at American Runway. As a junior editor, if we're to be technical._ ”

Is Emma dreaming? Hallucinating? What’s he talking about? “Killian. I already work there.”

“ _Let me be more specific… The_ new _American Runway._ ” 

“What? They’re…” Emma gulps, understanding his meaning perfectly. She’s up from the bed in a flash. “They’re _replacing_ Regina?”

“ _Don’t sound so surprised,”_ he drawls. “ _Fiona Fayette will be its new editor-in-chief. I’m bringing in the editorial content._ ”

“But… why?”

“ _Why they’re replacing her? Well, Fiona does the same thing for a lot less money. Regina is spending too much; American Runway is one of the most expensive books in the business. Not to mention Fiona is younger.”_

“What the hell!” She paces back and forth in her suite, running a hand through her hair, completely awake now. “And… Mr. Gold knows about this?”

“ _Of course. He’s a businessman. In fact, he’ll tell her after the party for Merlin.”_

“She doesn’t know?” Emma shouts. “She’ll be devastated!”

“ _Eh, she’ll be fine. Emma, love…_ ”

“I’m not your ‘love’. And I don’t want anything to do with you. _Au revoir,_ Killian.”

[SQ]

Her legs bounce up and down beneath the table, as she tries not to panic. Her attempts at warning Regina have all failed tremendously, and now she’s sitting next to Jefferson as Regina moves up the stage to announce his partnership with Merlin Knight.

“...and so, it should come as no surprise that when the time came for Merlin to choose the new president of Merlin Knight International, he chose from within the Runway family.” Emma blinks, realizing she totally missed the first part of the speech. She tunes in to hear as Regina continues. “It’s my greatest pleasure to announce to you all who that person is. Ladies and gentlemen, give a round of applause to Fiona Fayette, my friend and longtime esteemed colleague.”

It goes like this, the moment everything starts falling apart.

[SQ]

They are in the car that's taking them to the _Musée_ _Galliera,_ where a fashion show will take place. Emma doesn't care. She's flabbergasted. Regina knew everything.

The silence is stifling, but she prefers that to the alternative — Regina starts talking. "You really thought I didn't know?" Emma turns to stare at her, her expression one of sadness. "I've known what was happening for quite some time. I just had to find a suitable alternative for...  _Fiona_." She sneers like the name hurts her. "Then I told Robert that Fiona was unavailable. Quite simple, really, especially after I showed him my list."

"List?"

"The list of photographers, designers, writers, editors, models, all of whom were found by me, nurtured by me... They will follow me whenever, and if ever, I choose to leave Runway. So he had to reconsider, of course."

Emma can't say anything. If she opens her mouth, she'll start saying horrible things.

"I was very impressed, Emma. You tried very hard to warn me." Regina is staring intently at her, and she  _just can't take it_. "I... I see a great deal of myself in you."

"I couldn't do what you did to Jefferson," she says, voice cracking. "I couldn't do something like that."

"You did the same to Lena... You thought of yourself first." _What? No, no, no._ "And I see a brilliant path ahead of you... You just have to be willing to take it. Everybody wants to be us, Emma." They lock gazes, but Emma looks away, widening her eyes.  _No, no, no._ The thread of panic grows bigger, exponentially bigger.

She can't stay in this job. She can't. Who has she become? _You did the same to Lena_.  Has she lost herself along the way? She’s becoming selfish. Selfish just as Lena is, just as Jefferson, just as Killian, Fiona, and everyone else in the fashion industry.

She can't stay. Not if she'll be just as easily cast away. No, she wouldn't be able to handle that. What Regina did to Jefferson could be her in a few months. Hell, in a few days, even. Regina means a lot to her, and she can't lose her.

She loses her all the same.

The car stops at their destination. Everything happens in slow-motion. Regina removes her glasses, prepares the fake smile and as she goes up the stairs of the museum, Emma opens the door at the other side of the car and stares at the beautiful woman across from her. The slender, elegant line of her back, the perfect hair. The crowd, the photographers, all around her, all craving that beauty just like Emma does.

But Emma goes in the opposite direction, chanting _Don't look back, don't look back_ , until she has crossed the street and is at  _Place de la Concorde._

Then, from the distance, she sees Regina turn and look for her. A shiver runs down her spine.

 _Keep walking away, just keep walking away._ Emma's ringtone for Regina alerts her to an incoming call. Her eyes glaze as she throws her phone inside one of the fountains.

_It's over._


	9. october 2006

When she’d returned from Paris, Neal had moved out. In fact, a note on their small dinner table said he was in Boston, of all places. And everything that was his wasn’t there anymore. Apparently, a job interview had popped up and he’d thought he didn’t need to communicate with her about his sudden decision to travel while she was away. The apartment seemed… empty, abandoned. And, without a job, what did it mean for rent? She wouldn’t be able to afford the place if she didn’t find another job.

Emma called Neal a few days later to arrange a meeting at a bistro, because they hadn’t exactly parted on amicable terms. She needed closure.

“...I wanted to say that you were right, in some respects. I turned my back on my friends and my family and… um, everything I believed in for a while there. And… and for what?” Emma had looked away, knowing the truth she wouldn’t be able to voice. _Regina._

In the end, he’d smiled, and she knew he’d forgiven her. But when he suggested they try something again, she was quick to be resolute in her ‘no’.

_My heart belongs to someone else._

[SQ]

She feels strange.

No, that’s not it. She feels guilty.

Emma is aware of the fact that, had she remained working as Regina’s assistant, she would become as vicious as them all. She _has_ become, in some ways. Emma hears Regina’s haunting words echo in her head — it’s hard not to think about them, considering it’s been less a month since what Emma has dubbed ‘The Day’, for a lack of a better name.

[ _You did the same to Lena… You thought of yourself first. And I see a brilliant path ahead of you… You just have to be willing to take it. Everybody wants to be us, Emma._ ]

While she knows she did the right thing leaving Runway, she also did not do the right thing at all. She lies awake in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes trace the patterns of the cracks for a moment before she presses her hands to her eyes and sighs, trying to regulate her breathing.

The memories swirl around her head over and over. She chuckles and the sound is too loud in her lonely apartment.

Regina’s last words to her are not the only thing she ponders in the small hours of the morning. The last couple of months, while not less busy, had been different. Their interactions had changed so much, from that first day when Regina stared Emma down to that night in Paris, having fun and helping Regina forget about her problems.

Emma turns on her side, curls into the now unused pillow, and doesn’t allow herself to cry. She remembers a number of occasions that now cause an ache in her heart: Regina teaching her how to spot mistakes in the Book, huddled together in her study; Regina thanking her for getting her out of the soiree with such heartfelt emotion in her eyes; Regina’s eyes full of mirth, head thrown back in joyful laughter as they strolled through _Champs Elyseés_. _Regina, Regina, Regina._ It’s all she can think about.

She wonders if it makes her a bad person, for not sparing more than a few minutes on thoughts about Neal. She also wonders if she was selfish, for running away like that — not thinking about what would happen next, or whether it would hurt so much.

Regardless of her feelings, she knows their abrupt parting has ruined everything. That Regina must see her as her biggest disappointment. Emma should just forget about it. After all, she will apply for a job at the _New York Mirror_ now. There’s a small part of her that is afraid. Afraid that Regina has blacklisted her from the publishing world after what she’s done. She won’t see Regina anymore. Right?

Why did those moments feel so important, though?

Well, she can try and deceive herself, there’s always that option. But as she slowly succumbs to sleep, Emma admits that she knows why those moments were so important.

She saw the real Regina shining through.

And she is so, so beautiful.

[SQ]

On the other side of New York, at precisely 3:12 am, Regina lies awake, a cold feeling taking root in her chest.

Paris Fashion Week was a major disappointment.

For more reasons than she can properly nominate.

There's a divorce looming ahead, which will mean terrible things on Page Six. Terrible things for Henry to see. Will Emma see them?

Why does she still care? Emma does not care. She left.

_Emma left...left Paris… During Fashion Week…the most important week...left me. I was left…alone. Again._

Memories of the last few months keep roaming freely about in her mind. It’s bittersweet.

And as much as she tries to lie to herself, she knows Emma leaving was the worst outcome imaginable for everything she had to do in Paris. She once again traded a relationship for her career.

Perhaps the biggest lie of them all is the one thought she has pushed away several times as the weeks passed.

 _I don’t have feelings for her,_ her mind chants.

Her heart, on the other hand, does not agree.

It is not a mere infatuation.

So Regina does not believe those lies anymore. She will not lie anymore.

At least not to herself.

The next day, it’s no wonder her makeup team have to cover the bags under her eyes.

[SQ]

 

 

> **From:**  Henry Mills <henrymills@yahoo.com>
> 
> **To:**  Emma Swan <emmaswan@usrunway.com>
> 
> **Sent:** Wednesday, October 4th, 2006 06:28 PM
> 
> **Subject:** URGENT!!
> 
> Emma! What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in three days! You’ve been back since Sunday, right? I miss you!!
> 
> Also, Mom is different. She’s been very quiet lately — she hasn’t mentioned you at all these past few days. And believe me; she always talked about you before Paris.
> 
> Something happened while you two were there? Is that why Mom is spending more and more time alone at the workroom?
> 
> I know Mom is getting a divorce, but Mom has assured me that’s not the reason she’s so… sad.
> 
> PLEASE ANSWER THIS ASAP.

 

She reads through Henry’s email and frowns. She had forgotten about Henry’s feelings while making a decision she now realizes affected not only her, or Regina, or maybe even Runway, but also _Henry_.

Will he still want to maintain contact? She sighs. Cracking her knuckles, she poses her fingers on the keyboard before typing her answer.

 

 

> **From:**  Emma Swan <emmaswan@yahoo.com>
> 
> **To:**  Henry Mills <henrymills@yahoo.com>
> 
> **Sent:** Wednesday, October 4th, 2006 07:10 PM
> 
> **Subject:**  Re: URGENT!!
> 
> Henry,
> 
> I’m terribly sorry for not writing to you sooner, I was really tired from the trip and also reorganizing some stuff.
> 
> Kid, the thing is… I’ve kind of quit Runway? Right before the end of Fashion Week? I’m sorry, Henry. But I had to! That doesn’t mean I don’t miss my job. Because I do. I miss you, too, a lot!
> 
> Um, I’m pretty sure your mom’s not sad because of me. Because that would be ridiculous, right? I was just the second assistant. Please hug her tight, either way. Maybe she needs a reminder she has someone who loves her as much as you do!
> 
> Sorry again.
> 
> Can you forgive me? I’ll totally understand if you don’t want to continue emailing me.
> 
> P.S.: I'm using my other e-mail since I no longer work for Runway.

[SQ]

“Regina?” Lena says from the doorway. Regina looks up from the proofs she’d been revising. “ _The New York Mirror_ just called…” her tone is cautious. “They need a… _reference_ for Emma Swan. Quite ridiculous really,” she chuckles awkwardly.

Everyone is walking on eggshells about it. No one dares mention _her_ name around Regina.

Just hearing that lovely name makes her breath hitch slightly.

“Leave it to me. That’s all.”

[SQ]

**_‘Archie,_ **

**_Of all the assistants I’ve ever had, Emma Swan is, by far, my biggest disappointment._ **

**_If you don’t hire her, you’re an idiot._ **

**_Regina Mills.’_ **

[SQ]

Emma leaves _the_ _Mirror’s_ editorial offices in a daze. She landed the job. A staff writer for the _New York Mirror._ Okay, so maybe it isn’t the _Post_ or the _Times_ or even a magazine like she’d wanted, but it is _something_.

She got the job, and that’s not the best part.

 _Regina Mills_ gave her a reference.

Despite everything that happened, she got a reference.

 _And what a reference that was_ , she thinks, chuckling quietly as she strolls around New York with no destination in mind. She has a job now. She’s _finally_ getting somewhere.

Adjusting her messenger bag on her shoulder, she glances up, happy with the world after so many days spent miserably. That’s when she takes in her surroundings. Without meaning to, she’s ended up on the other side of the street that leads to the Elias-Clarke building.

West 48th Street will never be the same for her. Staring up at the elegant tower, she briefly wonders whether Regina is already up there, giving orders and demanding that blistering coffee. She sighs fondly.

Emma only realizes she’s stopped walking when, looking down to the building’s entrance, she sees _her_. And Emma’s heart does a somersault.

Regina, in all her glory, exiting through the revolving doors, phone to her ear. Emma can’t hear what she’s saying, all the way across the street as she is, but she imagines she can. That husky, murmuring voice will be forever engrained in her mind. It’s probably something along the lines of ‘I don’t understand why it’s so difficult to do as I asked’.

She’s so caught up in her thoughts, she fails to see Regina is staring right back (well, it seems so; the chosen sunglasses for the day aren’t that dark) poised just outside the town car’s open door.

Emma doesn’t know what possesses her to do such a pedestrian (in Regina’s terms) thing. She _waves_. It feels like the world has stopped, like all the New York buzz, the people, the cars, _everything_ has stopped mattering. It’s just them, for that single moment. And the most intriguing point of it all is that Regina slowly removes her signature glasses, stares fixedly at her for a few seconds, and then _smiles._

It's not the terrifying all-teeth-you’re-screwed one, or the rare, joyful one Emma glimpsed in Paris. But even as only the corners of Regina’s mouth lift up, her eyes… they sparkle.

Emma may have swooned a little.

It’s over too soon, in her opinion. Regina’s expression changes as she gives a miniscule nod. Back to the persona, it seems. She disappears from Emma’s view as she enters the vehicle.

If this has to be the last time they cross paths, it’s a far better memory than the way Regina searched for her amidst the paparazzi on The Day. With a spring to her step, Emma turns away towards the nearest subway stop.

[SQ]

The sight of Emma innocuously standing there ignites a burning thread of… anger? of confusion? of… quiet longing, yes, there inside Regina’s chest.

She watches from the window as Emma better accommodates her messenger bag and starts to disappear amongst the rest of the people.

It’s comforting to see that, despite having left _Runway,_ _Runway_ did not leave Emma — not completely. It’s there in the style she now possesses. And there’s no way Regina would have missed her in the crowd… _The red leather jacket_ , she thinks fondly. Too bad Emma does not know she was the gifter… Would it have changed anything? Is this the last time they will cross paths?

Regina admits to herself that she does not have the courage to pursue Emma. Especially with the way she left. She must think Regina is a horrible human being. Before her thoughts take a dark turn, she derails them by realizing that _the car hasn’t moved yet._

“Sidney. Is it so challenging to start moving?” She poses it as an inquiry, putting her sunglasses back on. “Go.”

[SQ]

A few weeks after being hired at the _Mirror,_ Emma drags herself to the kitchen, yawning tiredly. She’d gone to bed at midnight, after writing a funny piece for the lifestyle section. It’s a step-up from the obits, so Emma has no complaints.

She summons up the energy to make herself a cup of hot cocoa. If there’s one thing she misses, that’s Neal’s cooking. She doesn’t quite have the time to cook, so takeout or microwaved meals are her go-to these days. Not to mention that it’s tiresome to cook for one.

But today is her day, so Emma is treating herself to a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon on top. _I’ve become so boring._

Just as she’s taking the first sip of her delicious concoction, her recently bought Treo smartphone starts ringing from somewhere in the house. “Please don’t let it be work,” Emma mutters. It’s Sunday, and since she won’t do anything to celebrate her birthday, she doesn’t want to leave the house.

“Hey Mom…” she greets, having seen the caller ID.

“ _Happy Birthday, Emma,"_  she hears her mom coo over the line, and can imagine her getting misty-eyed. “ _Has my present arrived yet? I know it’s not much, sweetie, but—”_

“Yes, thank you, I got your gift,” Emma says into the phone pressed to her ear, holding up the floral-patterned cardigan with a wince.

“ _Do you like it?”_ her mom asks happily.

“It’s really… cute,” is her answer which is almost posed as a question — she doesn’t know how to define the article of clothing.

What amazes her is that these style aspects of the garment wouldn’t have mattered to her nearly nine months ago. The amused smile that’s formed while listening to Mary Margaret’s ramblings falls flat when she’s reminded of _Runway_. Mary Margaret is completely oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm with the gift, so Emma decides to let her remain clueless about this fact.

“Well, I’ll hand over the phone to your father before he takes it away from me. We’ll be waiting for you at the holidays, sweetheart! We miss you terribly. Love you!”

“Love you too, mom,” she smiles fondly. Her mom might be the most annoyingly happy human being on Earth, but she’s also the best.

“ _Hi, honey. Happy Birthday,_ ” her dad says, and Emma instantly gets misty-eyed.

“Hey Dad. Thanks.”

“ _I know she means well, but even I realized the cardigan was a terrible choice. Alas, you know how your mother is.”_ He whispers, and Emma laughs, because this is her family. They might not have the best fashion sense, or even care about it as Emma’s learnt to, but they love each other deeply.

[SQ]

“Wow, what a birthday,” she mutters, placing the cupcake with a single candle she bought in the spur of the moment on top of the counter. “Happy Birthday to me.”

She crosses her arms and leans them on the counter. Lighting the candle, Emma decides it won’t hurt to wish for something.

_I wish I weren’t alone._

The flame has just vanished when the doorbell alerts her to a visitor. _OK, this is kinda creepy timing..._ _Who could it be at this hour?_ It’s already 7 pm, she’s expecting no one.

“Henry?!” she exclaims upon opening the door.

“Hi Emma. Happy Birthday!” The kid beams, holding a present on his hands.

“What are you doing here? Wait, are you alone? Oh my god.” She ushers him inside, closing the door. _What is he doing here? Is he hurt?_ “Are you being followed?” she asks, worried out of her mind already.

“No, Emma!” He shakes his head, his big eyes reassuring her nothing’s wrong. “I didn’t want you to be alone on your birthday… I thought… Are you mad?” he asks, glancing down and scuffing his shoes against the floor.

Emma sighs. “No, of course I’m not mad…” She runs a hand through her hair. “But now we have to take you to your mother. She must be worried sick.”

“Oh.” He winces, finally eyeing her again. Suddenly, his eyes light up. “Wait, I… made something for you!”

“Henry…” She bends slightly to be at his eye level, eyes brimming with affection for this wonderful kid. “You didn’t have to... But _thank you._ For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Emma.” Giving her a toothy smile, he hands her the gift. “You don’t have to open it now,” he says shyly.

Holding the decorated envelope reverently, Emma promises, “I’ll open it as soon as I come back home, okay?” she asks. “But now we have to take you back.” _Even if Regina probably doesn’t want to see me._

[SQ]

“Henry?” a desperate voice calls, and Emma's breath is taken away. It's Regina, rushing toward him in heels after walking down the stairs. _How does she manage that?_ is the only question Emma’s mind can formulate at the moment. Emma smells Regina’s wonderful perfume as the woman envelops Henry in a hug, unable to deny the thrill of pleasure that passes through her. _I’ve missed you._

“Are you okay? Where have you been?” Regina demands. Emma watches as she puts her hands on his shoulders, fretting over him for a moment before straightening up again. “What happened?” she briefly glances at Emma, who feels (and probably looks like) a deer caught in headlights.

[SQ]

"Emma?" Regina whispers as they lock gazes.

It feels like a repeat from their first meeting, when Emma breathes out, "Hi,” and time seems to stand still.

Memories begin playing in her head. The moment they first met. The day Emma started caring for the job. The way they grew closer. How feelings emerged, things started _changing_ , and she found herself enamored with Emma.

The moment that stands out the most, however, is when she stood on the stairs at _Musée Galliera_ and tried to find Emma among the crowd. And Emma hadn’t been there.

Staring at Emma now, Regina _knows_ she cannot let the opportunity go to waste. Henry has brought her back. That has to mean something.

“Hello, Emma.” Her voice trembles slightly, but she hopes her expression gives nothing away, not yet. “Would you like to accompany us for dinner?”

**Author's Note:**

> Writers and artists spent months creating the fics and art you enjoy - it would mean the world to them if you commented to tell them what you liked! The SQSupernova team is also sponsoring a contest for commenters, and you can find out more [here](https://sqsupernova.tumblr.com/post/164792441694/announcing-the-sqsn-comments-contest-a-reward-for).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the d(evil) wears prada {fanart}](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11825736) by [misthavens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misthavens/pseuds/misthavens)




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